Informed Consent
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: The BAU goes to Vermont to investigate a case that has several similarities to an older case. Meanwhile, after settling business matters in Wisconsin, Dexter is directed towards a potential new playmate which may prove to provide a conflict of interest.
1. Chapter 1

_Burlington, Vermont_

_Jan 10_

He tried to resist. He couldn't, not anymore. It had been a month since last time, three months before that, and five before that. Each time he acquired his mark a different way, and finished each one a different way. The first one he shot with a small gun. That was quick and efficient but overall unsatisfying; too sudden. Next he tried slashing the throat. That was much better, but also much too messy; especially when it came to next step. The blood got all in her hair. Then he went with a stabbing. This was so far by far the best; he even ejaculated as she died. Again there was a problem; again, it was messy and he didn't much care for having to clean up so much after. It was time to try something else; something cleaner. It took some time to find the right girl, but there she was; downtown, just two blocks off Pearl Street.

It was getting late, and it was cold; too cold, some said, for snow. To Katherine Cross, known on the streets as Kacey, that made no sense. The reason there was no snow this year was because of some weird high pressure ridge keeping all the clouds away. That's what the weatherman was saying, anyway.

Kacey shivered and lit a smoke. Not only was it cold, but there was no work for her tonight, or so it seemed. Maybe because everyone was broke after Christmas. She was just about ready to give up and call it a night when a dark blue car – a Mazda something, not too fancy, but in good shape pulled up beside her. Putting on her best face, Kacey strutted up to the passenger side of the car and leaned forward as the window came down. She made sure her top would reveal just a hint of her cleavage; not too much, just enough to give the driver something to think about.

She took one look at him and her smile grew a little warmer. She knew this guy; well, sort of. She'd seen him in the area a few times, but up until tonight he never asked any of the girls for a date. Most of the girls just figured maybe he was shy; that he liked to window shop for a while and then goes home and do the DYI thing. A lot of the girls called him John Shyguy. It looked to Kacey like he was ready to take things to the next level.

"Hey there, handsome," she greeted. "Are you looking for a date?"

"I sure am," John said, trying to sound more confident than he was. He held up a wad of cash for her. She took it and got into his car and let him drive away.

_Racine, Wisconsin_

_Jan 10_

_Christmas was good at the Castle house. Astor and Cody even flew in. Astor flew in from Miami; said that she called it vacation time. Cody's work happened to have him in California anyway, so he managed to find time to spend the day with family. He'd gotten huge; he's a professional wrestler now, going by the name CB Morgan. At first, he was still angry with me for my vanishing act; I can hardly blame him for that. If I were him and had feelings, I'd be mad at disappearing dear old daddy Dexter, too. I think I smoothed it over, though; I let him read me his riot act about how I should have stayed in Miami the whole time and faced my troubles no matter how hard it was. When he was done, I told him he was right; that my running away was cowardly, but now I'm trying to make things right. He seemed to accept that response, and afterwards dinner was nothing short of fantastic. Of course, Cody left right after dinner; he said he had to get back to work – the busy, busy life of CB Morgan and all that. Apparently he has a big opportunity to win some championship or another. _

_After Cody was gone, Astor took talking shop. I have to admit I was a little shocked at how much she actually knew about me, Harrison, and Hannah; what was even more shocking was how she was actually okay with everything. She was even helpful. She was well informed on the movements of the FBI and their attempts to locate us, and extremely useful at obstructing their efforts. _

_Now, I'm in Racine Wisconsin. It's time to meet Lumen again, this time to make her position with Castle Couriers as manager of our Mid-West Branch official. Today is the day... _

"I knew it." Lumen said after a moment, letting it sink in that she was standing in front of her dark angel Dexter Morgan in the Wisconsin office of Castle Couriers. "I mean, I knew you weren't dead."

"Hi, Lumen," Dexter said, not sure what else to say.

Without another word, Lumen charged him and held him in an embrace. "I knew you were alive; I can't explain how, but I knew it. I didn't know you were now Frank Castle, and I never thought I'd see you again, but here you are!"

Dexter awkwardly reciprocated her hug, patting her back. "Yup, I'm here." He confirmed. "Look, I know this is awkward, for both of us, but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get to business first, then maybe we can catch up, okay?"

"Oh, of course," Lumen agreed, letting him go. They worked out the final arrangements for the Wisconsin office. Once business was settled, Lumen broke out a bottle of champagne and persuaded Dexter to stay for a glass; to celebrate their new and strictly professional relationship. First they made a little chat to catch up; Dexter told her how Harrison was growing up so fast, and that he was living with him and Hannah. He didn't mention Harrison's Shady Co-host; she didn't need to know about that. After all, her darkness had left her. As she hadn't said a word about his Dark Passenger or their activities together concerning Jordan Chase and his entourage, it wasn't that Dexter felt he couldn't trust her; it was more about wanting to keep her from revisiting a very dark and difficult time in her life.

"Do you remember?" She asked finally. "How I said that I didn't feel it anymore." She added before Dexter could ask what she meant.

"Of course I do." He replied. "I told you I would carry your Darkness for you."

She nodded, evidently satisfied he did indeed remember. "Well, I think I might have been wrong."

That got his attention; and not in good way. He was hoping that Lumen was free. "You haven't..."

"Oh, dear God no" she interrupted. "All I meant was that I think after we finished taking care of those men, I think my darkness didn't so much leave me as it, I don't know, went dormant. The thing is, over the last six months or so it's been stirring; waking up I guess you could say. Which is what makes it so perfect that you showed up now, of all times."

"Okay, I'll bite." Dexter said, curious. "Why has it been waking up?"

"How closely have you been following national news?" She asked in response.

"Not very," he admitted.

"Then you wouldn't know about the massive wave of suicides that have been happening all though the state of Wisconsin over the past year." She said. "I know suicides aren't your thing, and at first I didn't think anything of it, until I noticed there was pattern to them. I mean, I think they might not be suicides at all."

_Holy shit! _Deb exclaimed. _She's number 13, isn't she? You were her guy! She went to you to help her get her revenge! Fuck it, Dex; she was right before, you better hear her out, or you're the biggest dumbass on the planet! _

"Go on." Dexter said calmly. "Show me more."

Lumen produced a laptop, and after booting up and clicking in the relevant places, she turned the computer so Dexter could see the screen. She then moved so she was next to him and guiding him through what she had complied to make her case.

She started with a seemingly endless set of news articles about suicides all over the state; some in Milwaukee, some in Green Bay, one or two there in Racine, and a few in various other smaller municipal regions. The oldest one was written just over a year ago, the most recent one from two days ago. Scanning the articles, Dexter saw they were highly varied; there were men, women, young, old, a variety of races all reported. The youngest, a fourteen year old boy named Jeremy Tenant, stuck out particularly to Dexter.

"I'm not sure I get it." He said. "What's the pattern you say you see?"

"First of all, look at the manner of death." Lumen prompted.

Dexter looked again, and then he saw it. They were all reported to have killed themselves by lethal injection; the same substance in every case. Even more interesting was that it was not exactly an easy substance to get a hold of.

"Where are they all getting it?" Dexter asked, more thinking out loud than actually asking.

"Exactly," Lumen said. Then she moved on to a different file on her desktop. "There's more, though; check it out."

The next file she showed him revealed that each, or at least several, of the suicides were terminally ill. Jeremy Tenant had what was described as advanced Leukemia. Those who were not terminally ill; a man in Milwaukee and a woman in Racine, both had early onset Alzheimer's. In those two cases, it was believed that they wanted to die with their faculties somewhat intact.

_It looks like we might have what is sometimes referred to as an Angel of Death; a mercy killer who believes he is sparing his victims a great deal of suffering. This is certainly something worth looking into. _

"I'll tell you what," Dexter said. "Give me a duplicate of everything you have, and I'll look into it." He turned and looked at Lumen. "Don't worry, if you have something here, I'll carry your darkness, like I promised."

_Burlington, Vermont _

She said her name was Kacey. He had no doubt that was not her real name; it had to be a working name. Not that he really cared much; she had a purpose to serve and after that purpose was served her name would mean nothing.

It just happened that Kacey had a place set up for her 'work', if one could call it that. Even better, it had parking around back and out of sight. As a result, Kacey didn't even make it out of his car. In one quick motion, he produced the home made garrotte fashioned out of a steel guitar string and two corkscrews from inside his jacket and had it wrapped around her neck. In a desperate act of futility, she attempted to pull the string away from her throat as the oxygen got cut off from her lungs; her brain. Though from behind her he couldn't see, he knew that her eyes were rolling back as the whites took on blood and she gasped for what precious air she could find. He tightened the grip; the string digging deeper into her flesh and breaking the skin. Much to his delight, this method took even longer than he thought it would; he could savor every single moment, achieving a climax unlike any he ever had as she breathed her last.

After composing himself, he put away his garrotte and assessed the wound he left. It was certainly bloody, but not nearly as messy as a blade. With a little control, he could manage to minimize the amount of blood that got in any girl's hair. With a curt nod of satisfaction, he pulled a dark colored scarf out of his glove compartment. It was in a Ziploc freezer bag, and at no point had he ever put his hands directly on it or ever wore it himself. Wearing his gloves, he wrapped it gently around her neck before driving away to his chosen dumpsite. When he got her there, he would clip off her admittedly well cared for red hair. He was wearing his gloves when he handed her the money, so she could keep it. In her own way, she did earn it, after all...

_Quarry Lake Park, Wisconsin_

_Jan 11 _

The sun began to rise and reflect gently on the layer of ice on the lake as Dominic Jameson (DJ to the few friends he had left) sat on his favorite bench at Quarry Lake Park. A light breeze swept the light dusting of snow that barely coated the frozen water, making the sun's reflection seem that much brighter. The snow had started briefly and stopped about an hour ago. This was a good day; all Dominic had to do now was wait for Dr. Morton to show up. They had agreed to meet here for their final session; Dr. Morton let him pick the spot, and this was the place he wanted to end their time together.

Finally he heard someone approach.

"Is that you, Doctor?" he called, still gazing out at the lake.

"I'm here," Doctor Morton replied, taking a seat on the bench beside him. "Before we continue, I want to give you one final chance to change your mind about this. Are you sure you want this? I need to be certain that you completely understand what it is that is happening here."

"I understand." DJ said. "I've made sure all my loose ends are tied up, and I'm ready for this." With a gloved hand, he rolled back the sleeve to his parka to expose his inner forearm. "Please, Doctor, let me go with some dignity."

Three months ago, DJ was diagnosed (by another Doctor, not Morton) with full-blown AIDS. His days were numbered, anyway. Up until then, he thought it was a myth that those who contracted the virus were alienated from family and friends, but as it turned out it was a reality; those with their health intact just couldn't cope. Maybe they were scared of the virus itself, or maybe at least some of them were just adjusting to him being gone forever. In some ways, he didn't blame them; it had to be a hard thing to know someone you know and care about was circling the drain. It still hurt, though; almost as much the feeling of your own life rapidly seeping out your pores.

"Very well, then," Dr. Morton said. "I wish a safe journey to wherever the god of your choosing takes you, DJ. May I call you DJ?"

"Yes, that's fine," DJ said, keeping his focus on the frozen lake, observing with care how the sun glittered off the ice. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Rest in peace, DJ," Doctor Morton said. DJ kept his eyes on the sparkling ice as the Doctor stuck the needle into his inner forearm and depressed the plunger. Dominic Jameson watched the sun dance off the ice until his eyes closed and he entered his final sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_Quantico_

Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia stood in the elevator heading up to the BAU bullpen and offices. They spoke not a single word to each other, even though there was likely plenty to be said. The elevator door opened up, and Kevin Lynch was standing on the other side waiting for them.

"Hi, Doc, you're just the man I was hoping to see." He said. "You wanted me to look up Hannah McKay; well, florists in Argentina that closed up shop and cross reference that with shops that opened up shortly after." He adjusted his glasses.

"Yes, that's right," Reid confirmed. "I assume you found something?"

"Well, I think; maybe." Kevin replied, fumbling with a file folder to hand it to Reid. Reid took it and opened it up to look through it. "I did find a few different florists that sort of fit what you're looking for, but only one run by a white female named Amanda Williams. She managed a flower shop in Buenos Ares, raising a son named Harrison. See that picture? I think that might be your girl Hannah."

Reid studied the picture. It was taken at a bad angle; her face could only be partly seen. That said, he thought that it could be her.

Reid nodded in approval. "This is good work, Kevin," he told Kevin. "Let me ask you this; is she still there, or has she moved on?"

"That shop closed down, and I was able to find her Tijuana, Mexico," Kevin said, proud of his digging. "Or at least I think it's her. She took on an alias, changed her hair color and altered her appearance just enough to cast a shadow of doubt. If I'm right, then her new name is Jennifer Fisher, and she has recently taken over ownership of Maria's Gold Flowers."

"That's excellent, Kevin." Spencer said. "By any chance is she still in Mexico?"

"I'm not sure," Kevin admitted. "The most recent info on Maria's has the actual owner retiring and putting the place up for sale. Jennifer is, or was running the place, but I'm not sure if the shop is open or if she's still there."

"Okay," Spencer said, glancing at his watch. "We've got a briefing, so keep up the good work."

"Did Kevin just ghost me?" Garcia asked once Lynch cleared out and she and Reid resumed their way to the briefing room. Garcia had another case for them, but had not yet said anything about it. "In all the time I've known him, he's never ghosted me; I'm the ghoster...is that the right way to say that?"

"I'm not sure," Reid replied. "What do you mean by ghost?"

Garcia glanced over at Reid. "Never mind," she said. "What's really important is that you have Kevin looking for Hannah McKay. Why do you have Kevin looking for Hannah McKay?" She stopped walking, apparently deep in thought. "You don't...do you think Dexter and Hannah reunited?" She whispered, scurrying to catch up to Reid.

"They might have." Reid confirmed. "He did trust her enough to care for his son after he faked his own death. At the very least the chances are high that he'd try to track them down once he willingly broke his own cover to check in on Astor Morgan in Miami during the Jacob Elway case."

"That thought gives the warm fuzzies and the chills at the same time." Garcia commented.

"Actually, that makes perfect sense." Reid said. "They did seem to have genuine affection for each other, and the nature of their psyches seem to make for an ideal folie a deux, which can be seen as weirdly romantic; but then again it's also chilling given what both are capable of individually and their mastery of evading detection for long periods of time."

They both dropped the subject immediately as soon as they entered the conference room.

"I apologize for the delay, boys and girls." Garcia said with a candid air. She made quick work of setting up her gear. "Today I draw your attention to Burlington, Vermont. Before I go any farther, boys and girls, I want to mention that this particular case might have a ring of familiarity for some of you."

She clicked her clicker and an image of a young woman of about twenty years old appeared on the screen behind Garcia. By the way the girl was dressed, Reid would guess she was a prostitute; the only article of clothing that seemed out of place was a scarf around her neck which looked like it was probably the most expensive thing on the scene. Also of note was that her hair, dyed red, was cut – clearly by the UnSub at the scene since all the clippings were all around the girl.

"I wish it was under different circumstances, but allow me to introduce you to Katherine Cross, also known as Kacey on the streets. This was how she was found in a back alley in downtown Burlington approximately one week ago. Before any of you ask, kids, I will tell you that we are only seeing this case now because it wasn't until two days ago that Burlington Municipal Police finally sent this to us due to pressure from the Mayor herself. As for the Mayor, she only finally caved after the media made the connections to three other murders and came up with a name for a serial killer targeting the working girls."

Another click on her clicker, and Garcia revealed three more images; each of deceased prostitutes. One was stabbed, another had her throat slashed, and a third was shot in the head with a small caliber pistol; most likely a .22. All of them had their hair cut, the trimmings left on the scene. Of note, with the exception of the shooting, all of the haircuts actually looked pretty good. Garcia gave names and locations of they were found. Brenda "Bren" Williams, the stabbing, was found near a dumpster behind a local pub known as a favorite haunt for working girls downtown in early December. Amanda "Mandy" Short, the slashing, was found on a park bench near the lake in early September. Elizabeth "Sugar" Birmingham, the shooting, was found behind a bowling alley very early in the morning of April 2. Apparently there was a rather raucous party in the bowling alley the night before, and nobody heard the shot. Sugar was known as a 'Lane Lizard' a working girl that trolled the alley for tricks.

"He uses different MO's, but keeps the same signature." Rossi commented. "Either he's new at this and is trying to figure out what feels right, or he's changing things up as some kind of forensic countermeasure."

"Either way, the signature is what really matters to him." Prentiss added.

"The press has taken to calling the Barber." Garcia said.

"Hold on a second," Alvez interjected. "You said some of us might find this familiar. Why is that?"

At first glance, it looks a lot like Ronald Weems." Reid blurted. "He stabbed and cut the hair of several prostitutes here in DC. This was during a time when crime in the Capital was at an all time low, and we were under a lot of pressure to keep his case quiet."

"Well, yeah, but Weems hacked their hair as a way of symbolically destroying their femininity." JJ countered. "Other than the shooting, this guy is giving these girls a nice haircut."

"No kidding," Prentiss agreed. "If he wasn't an UnSub, I'd go to him do my hair."

"So what are we looking at here?" Alvez asked. "A Weems copycat?"

"It's possible, but not likely." Reid answered. "Weems hated prostitutes; thought of them as lower beings spreading disease and filth that deserved to die as a means of cleaning up our streets. In reality, however, he was projecting his own guilt for his own sexually deviant desires. The fact that this UnSub takes the time to give his victims a nice haircut suggests he doesn't have that kind of contempt for them."

"It could be a sign of remorse." Prentiss suggested.

"Wait," Garcia said. "So he's saying 'I killed you, but here, I'll make you look good after the fact'? That doesn't make any sense."

"It only has to make sense to him." JJ retorted.

"I have a question." Alvez broke in. "Why do all the other girls have nice haircuts, but not Birmingham? Could it be because she's African American? Could it be a race thing?"

"It could be," Rossi confirmed. "Or maybe the gunshot wound made too much of a mess. Or maybe he didn't have the kind of time he would have liked. What concerns me right now is the time frame between kills; five months between Birmingham and Short, three months between Short and Williams, and one month between Williams and Cross. That's quite the escalation between cooling off periods."

"Which means he could be getting ready for his next kill even as we speak," Prentiss agreed. "It looks like we're going to Vermont; wheels up in twenty."

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Shortly after agreeing to take on Lumen's darkness once again, Dexter called home to explain that he'd be held back in Wisconsin for 'a project'. Both Hannah and Harrison understood what he meant; much to Dexter's relief, Hannah did not suspect him of having any romantic inclinations towards Lumen. Harrison only said he wished he could be there to help on the project.

Since then, Dexter spent the week or so pouring over every detail of Lumen's research; which she had provided for him on a thumb drive. He started with the news articles. Most of them were vague at best; almost as if they were deliberately missing the connections between the deaths. Why so many suicides all of the sudden? Why are all the suicides with an injection of an 'undisclosed, but difficult to obtain substance'? Where are they getting this substance from? How is it that nobody seems to notice all these so called suicides are taking place in highly scenic locations throughout the state? The fact that all were either terminally ill or at the very least had a condition that would make life more of a chore than anything else accounted for a motive for suicide, as weak as taking one's own life was; even if Harry did ultimately kill himself over what he made Dexter into.

What floored Dexter more than anything was how it seemed all of the families and loved ones accepted these deaths as they were sold without question. Of course there was one exception; and in this case it appeared as if the deadly instincts of Dexter were still as sharp as ever. That one exception was none other than Linda Tenant, mother of Jeremy. In his article, Dexter noticed, mom stated that she refused to believe that her son would kill himself; she claimed that Jeremy was determined to live what little life he had as fully as possible.

To add to the Linda Tenant lead-if it was a lead-there was also a segment of a podcast from some late night talk radio show. Most of it was Linda complaining how the cops were refusing (her words, the host used the word reluctant) to investigate her son's death any farther than they did.

_What the fuck is wrong with Wisconfuckingsin cops? _Deb chimed in with usual color._ If it was me, I would have been all over that. The mom deserves to know for sure. I bet even LaGuerta would have let me look into it. _

"Not all cops are like you, Deb." Dexter replied, almost absently. "Though for the record, I agree with you on this one."

_Oh, that's great. _Deb argued_. You'd probably try to keep me out of any investigative attempt so you could have your playmate._

"True," He admitted. There was no point in lying about it; Deb wasn't really there, anyway.

Linda did mention that Jeremy did get a little bit depressed when they had to put down the family cat, Hermie. She, the cat, was apparently named after a popular movie and book character that Dexter didn't really recognize. It seemed to Dexter that he might have to pay Linda a visit.

_But first, tonight, I have one more phone call to make_.

He took note of the call letters of the radio station, and the number to reach them. Maybe the host would be willing to talk about the case of Jeremy Tenant just a little more.

_Approaching Burlington, Vermont_

"So Reid, you said that this case has similarities to another case that you guys worked years ago." Alvez said. "That was some guy named Ronald Weems, right?"

"Actually, there's a significant amount about this one that is very different from the Weems case." Reid answered. "Really the only similarities are the victims and the signature; and even the signature is different because where Weems simply hacked off the hair with a knife in order to denigrate his victims even more, this UnSub gives them a nice haircut – it's almost like he's apologizing for killing them."

"Hold on; he's apologizing?" Alvez asked. "Like he's saying sorry I killed these girls?"

"Partly," Reid said, "but I think he might be apologizing to his victims."

"We can rule out robbery as a motive," JJ added. "All four women still had significant amounts of cash on them, and all their valuables appear to be accounted for. Maybe they refused him service, or maybe he's impotent and this is the only way he can get off."

"I remember that case," Prentiss added. "It was one of the first ones we took on after I joined the team. Weems was a political nobody and a misogynist. Hey, didn't he run some kind of anti-prostitution lobby group?"

"Yes, it was called the Decency Watch." Reid confirmed. "Through it, Weems signed off on an initiative to crack down on crimes like prostitution – treating them like a sort of gateway crime - in order to lower the overall crime rate. Apart from that, Weems and the Decency Watch had no real impact on the Hill at all. Weems's murders were in part due to his frustration; we also found pages of vitriolic discourse on the subject."

Alvez nodded and glanced over at Rossi. "You're being awfully quiet, Rossi." He said.

Rossi raised his hands, as if in surrender. "I wasn't involved in the Weems case." He announced. "That was during my very long hiatus from the BAU; when Gideon was still on board."

"Okay," Alvez said, accepting that answer. "So what if this guy has the same kind of idea as this Weems? Maybe he's got some kind of political or vigilante thing going on?" He looked at the monitor on the jet, where Garcia was looking in at them from her office. "Garcia, can find out if there's any group like this Decency Watch in Burlington?"

After a few clicks and taps on her keyboard, Garcia came up with an answer.

"Not really," she replied. "But, and there almost always is a but, you might be playing horseshoes, newbie, where close does indeed sometimes count. There is a small alternative newsletter that circulates three times a week. For the most part it just serves to criticize the Municipal Government and City Hall. There is, however, an article here in regards to how ineffective law enforcement is at handling the high rate of solicitation and prostitution. According to the article, the working girls have come up with ways to ply their trade in ways that the police don't see them on the streets as much since the mayor initiated a policy very much like the one you were just talking about. Dennis Wellington, the editor of the Alt-News and who just so happened to write the article refuses to give specific examples of their strategies, but claims the cops know about them and aren't doing anything about it."

"Well, there you go." Alvez suggested. "Maybe this guy Wellington is looking to take matters into his own hands."

Rossi appeared to consider this possibility. "It's certainly worth looking into," he agreed. "We could be looking at an UnSub that's cleaning house."

"Okay, so here's what we're going to do." Prentiss broke in. "Alvez, you and JJ check out this Alt-News and Wellington, get a feel off of them. Reid, you go to the coroners to do victimology, and Rossi and I will head to the Precinct to set up shop and review what they have so far on these murders."

_Racine, Wisconsin_

While waiting for the radio show to start, Dexter looked through the rest of Lumen's research. She had no luck in finding out what was specifically used to inject the victims, but did learn that each of them were found in places that were known to be favorite haunts of theirs.

_Be careful, Dexter, _Harry warned_. You don't know for sure these are victims of murder. _

"It could be whoever injected them left them in their favorite spots as some kind of remorse thing." Dexter said.

_Or maybe they went to a place they liked to do it themselves._ Harry countered.

She also worked out a geographic profile, apparently from some program designed by a guy in the RCMP in Canada, which apparently narrowed down the likely source of the mystery substance to somewhere right there in Racine. That actually helped a lot; at least he wouldn't have to track whoever it was behind all this all over the state. It was even better he was already in the right city.

The morning after seeing Lumen, Dexter caught a segment in the news about another suicide; this one in Quarry Lake Park. Dominic Jameson was found there on a park bench. He was known to be a homosexual and to have contracted the AIDS virus. After which, some commentary was made about the epidemic of terminally ill suicides in the State, and a hotline for support was promoted.

Finally, it got late; the radio did a quick review of some news headlines before introducing the 'The All-Nighter' with Monty Porter. Among the headlines was a bit about a guy named Philip Curtis in Buffalo who was starting a campaign to 'Free Topher'. Apparently this guy wanted people to sign a petition to foster the release of a serial killer named Christopher Larson on the grounds that now that he's done all the killing he ever meant to do – all of which were arguably justifiable as a consequence of a combination of incompetence and outright corruption of the Hall of Larson's hometown.

Right after his intro, Monty went back to that story, flushed out a few more details around the circumstances, and announced that he would have Philip Curtis on the air via telephone for an interview about his campaign.

"In the meantime, on top of everything else we have lined up for you tonight on The All-Nighter, it's time for our weekly unofficial survey! Tonight's survey, Wisconsin, is this: would you sign the petition that calls for the release of Christopher Larson now that you know some of the circumstances of his actions this past September? Yes or no, call it in right now! In case you don't know the digits..."

Dexter turned down the radio and dialed the number.

"Thanks for calling the All Nighter!" The producer greeted. "Can we get your name and where you're calling from?"

"This is Ted," Dexter answered with a put-on southern accent. "I'm calling from her in Racine, but I'm originally from Texas."

"Wow, Texas, huh? Tell me, what brings you to Racine, Ted?"

"I come up here from time to time on business," Dexter replied.

"Okay, Ted, that's cool." The producer said. "So are you calling for the survey?"

"Well, yeah, sort of." Dexter said. "The way I hear, that fella went and surrendered after he got the guys he wanted dead. The way I figure, he don't wanna be let go; maybe he accepts that he did the crime and ought to do the time."

"I guess that's fair enough." The producer said agreeably.

"But I've also been thinking about these suicides you folks have been dealing with." Dexter added hastily. "You think maybe I could touch on them, too?"

"Oh," the producer said with a spark of interest in his voice. "I think we can fit that in, Ted. Just sit tight; you'll be on in a few."

Then Dexter was on hold. During the time of his wait until his turn, a number of callers rang in their views and made their votes on the unofficial survey. Dexter was a little surprised at how many younger listeners Monty's show had, but somehow not surprised at all at how many people said they would sign that petition.

"Thank you for that, Bobby," Monty said. "Now we have Ted, who's here on business from Texas. Ted, how are you?"

"I'm good, Monty." Dexter replied. "Thanks for taking my call; much obliged."

"Not a problem, Ted. Glad to have you on board." Monty obliged. "So, the free Topher petition; would you sign it?"

"You know what? I'm going to be the minority here, but no, I wouldn't." Dexter said. "Now before any of the other listeners get all worked up about that, just hear me out. First off, whatever his reasons were – and I even kind of admire his reasons – if you do the crime, you do the time, right? Second, the way I hear, he went ahead and gave himself up, so I would think he accepts that mantra."

"That's one way to look at it," Monty allowed. "I hope you stick around to hear what Philip Curtis has to say. Hey, Ted, I understand you also wanted to talk a little about the suicide epidemic here in Wisconsin. Tell us what's on your mind."

"Alright, I will." Dexter said. "I hear there was another one earlier this week, but that's neither here nor there. See, I was thinking about the last time I was up this way you had that lady who believed her son was a victim and not a suicide at all."

"I remember," Monty confirmed. "You mean Linda Tenant, mother of Jeremy Tenant."

"That's the one. Anyways, I was thinking that maybe she's on to something. Now I'm not saying there's a killer on the loose or nothing like that; but all the suicides are by injection, right? So why ain't the cops looking for whoever's giving these people whatever it is they're sticking into their veins? Whoever that is has gotta be held accountable, right?"

Monty was quiet for a beat. "You know, I don't think I thought about it like that, Ted. That's a very good point." He said.

"Thanks," Dexter said back. "Just one last thing; I seem to recall that that Linda said something about a P.I. she hired? Did she give out a name, by any chance? I was thinking maybe they could shed some light on the matter."

"You're right; she did say she hired a Private Investigator." Monty admitted. "My producer is looking up the transcripts now... yes! She did give a name! That was Julian Bishop of Bishop Investigations; do you think we could try to get him on the show later in the week? My producer is giving that a thumb up, so we'll give it a shot. Thanks for the call Ted."

And then the line went dead. It didn't matter; Dexter got all that he needed from Monty Porter. It seemed to Dexter he might not have to talk to Linda Tenant after all; he would, however, have to see just how much Julian Bishop knew...


	3. Chapter 3

_Burlington, Vermont_

He got home and just barely managed to stop himself from calling out to his mother. His mother was dead; she was shot with a .22 and killed by that burglar. He knew that; it was just a habit to call to her. Maybe the fact that he was able to stop himself this time was a good sign. Maybe it meant he was adjusting to his new reality; that his own moral compass was starting to realign itself.

He knew what he was doing to those whores was wrong; even if they were just whores; they were human beings and did not deserve to die like they had. The problem was that since his mother was killed he could not stop himself; it was like something inside him was broken. At first, the police suspected he had killed his mom and made it look like a burglary gone wrong. He didn't blame them for thinking so; it wasn't exactly a secret that he spent a lot of his life in the institution. He was later cleared of suspicion when it was established he had no firearm at the time, and then they caught the guy who actually did it.

The truth was that he needed his mom alive; she was the only thing that was keeping him from acting out on his urges. He didn't want to hurt her in any way, shape or form; not after she had done so much for him. When that man from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, Jason Gideon, recommended he be institutionalized, his mom resisted at first. It was soon made clear that Gideon was right. Mom could have thrown him into the hospital and forgot about him, but she didn't. She found him the best possible place, and then moved from DC to Vermont so she could stay close to him and even visited all the time. In a lot of ways, they were all each other had.

And now she was gone. She left him well taken care of as far as money and home went, but she was gone.

Under his arm, he had a copy of the morning edition of today's paper. On the coffee table in the front room was a copy of a biography about James Doakes, the Bay Harbor Butcher; written by the Lead Forensics Investigator on that case Vincent Masuka. It was Masuka's second book; his first being about Brian Moser, the Ice Truck Killer. Maybe if read about other people like him, he would be able to get a grip on whatever it was that drove him to do the things he did and stop himself.

In the papers, they were calling him 'the Barber'. A reporter named Samantha Kruger broke the story and coined the term a couple of days after Kacey. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not; on one hand, it was probable that the police were hoping to keep his pattern out of the news so as to not spook him so they could catch him, but on the other hand if the working girls knew there was a psychotic killer out there they might take measures to try to keep themselves safe. He wasn't sure which would make things harder for him. After Bren, he thought about turning himself in, but then decided that would do no good; the intuitions couldn't help him the first time. After Kacey, he seriously thought about killing himself; especially since this time Spencer wouldn't be there to save him, but somehow that seemed cowardly. Besides, after all his mom did to keep him alive, that would be an insult to her memory. Why couldn't he just stop? In today's paper, the front page promised a timeline of the Barber's activities so far on page three. The article on page three was written by Kruger, starting with Sugar and ending with Kacey. While it did cover the shooting, slashing, stabbing and strangulation, it was really mostly about the victims and their lives (in bullet form) up until the Barber got to them. It humanized the girls, and only really mentioned the Barber to denounce him as a sick monster that the police needed to bring down. Kruger wasn't wrong. She was right to write the article the way she did. Reading it, he felt even more remorse for his actions against them, and revisited – only briefly- the idea of turning himself in. But no; that wouldn't help. There really was only one way this could end.

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Julian Bishop berated himself for being a bona-fide, bumbling bonehead. He was up most of the night before, listening to that late-night punk Monty Porter. He opened up his show with some stupid survey about a petition to free some wack-job in upstate New York. The story went that this guy Larson hanged four town leaders that raped his sister twenty years ago. She killed herself shortly after; apparently because the town covered the rape up. Twenty years later, this guy Larson finally gets the balls to try and do something about it, and then turned himself in; like that somehow makes it all okay.

The important part was the caller. Some hick redneck from Texas hit the nail right on the head with a comment he made. He said that the cops should be looking for whoever has been giving the suicides the drugs to kill themselves. He knew what the drugs were; it was Pentobarbital combined with Dilatin. This was a cocktail used to put animals to sleep. Why Bishop didn't think to look at veterinarians he couldn't think of; it was so obvious. Maybe he just figured it didn't matter; the whole thing looked like suicides, case closed.

Still, Ted from Texas made a good point; whoever provided the cocktail should be held accountable. Bishop looked up vets within the geo-profile area; there was close to a hundred. He already knew that a lot of the suicides had pets or had loved ones that had pets. He also knew that in most of those cases, the pet was either put down or treated shortly before the person died. That_ had_ to be a connection. At any rate, it was a place to start.

_Burlington, Vermont_

SSA's Prentiss and Rossi arrived at the Precinct with a uniform officer that the Lieutenant of the Burlington Homicide Division sent to escort them. Even though Burlington is the largest populated city in Vermont, it ranks as one of, if not the lowest populations of the highest populated cities in the country, so it wasn't too surprising to learn that the Precinct was comparatively small. Still, it would suffice; the police and staff certainly seemed efficient.

"Agents Prentiss and Rossi?" the Lieutenant greeted them, obviously false warmth in his voice. "I'm Lieutenant Paul Greene. Glad you could come. Mayor Kingston also sends her gratitude."

As the last sentence was spoken through slightly gritted teeth, Prentiss picked up quickly that Greene would much rather they were not here.

"Glad to be of service," she replied. "I can assure we are not here to take over your case, Lieutenant. We are only here to help you find whoever did this to these women."

Greene looked the two of them over, like he was sizing them up. Finally, he nodded slightly, apparently satisfied that Emily was being honest. He was accompanied by two detectives; one male and one female. He cocked his thumb at them. "This is Detective Karen Toussaint and Detective Aaron Strong; this has been their case from the start. We got the briefing room cleared out for you to set up whatever it is you need. They'll take you there and go over what they have on it so far."

"That sounds great," Rossi said. "Lead the way."

The detectives led the way. Once Greene had made himself scarce, Toussaint spoke up. "You'll have to excuse the L.T." She said. "His aversion to you being here isn't personal."

"Up until this Barber case, his solve rate was ridiculous." Strong added. "It's just playing on his ego that no sooner than he gets promoted, a serial comes up that seems to have him...well, all of us, really, beat."

"We're actually glad that you're here." Toussaint continued. "We can use all the help we can get."

"It's not a problem." Prentiss reassured them./p

"I guess you guys are used to that by now," Strong commented. "Local cops being like that towards you Feds coming into their towns."

"It happens from time to time," Rossi admitted. "We've learned to take it in stride. It's like Agent Prentiss said, though; we're only here to help."

They entered the briefing room. Looking around, Prentiss had to admit that Greene might be a bit of an egocentric hard ass, but he definitely knew what he was doing. Everything they needed was set up neat as a pin. She also surmised he had a touch of the old OCD as well.

"I hope this is enough," Toussaint said, almost apologetically. "The L.T. really came down on us to get everything out and organized."

"This is great." Prentiss replied. "It'll make our jobs a lot easier; thank you."

"Well, this looks to be all in order." Rossi chimed in. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at the crime scenes; get a feel for who this guy is where he was."

"Sure thing, Agent," Strong answered. "I don't know what you'll find, though; other than Kacey, those sites are pretty much cleared out."

"Well, you need to trust us." Rossi retorted gently. "We look for different things than you would."

"Well, okay then," Strong conceded. "I'll take you."

Detective Aaron Strong led Rossi out of the building, and Prentiss turned to Toussaint to begin going over what they had there. The only thing that she could see missing was a geographic profile; she could get Reid to work one up once he was done at the coroner.

SSA Doctor Spencer Reid looked over the bodies of the four girls. The first one, Sugar, was pretty straightforward. She died as result of a single gunshot wound to the head. As he supposed, it was a .22 caliber pistol. In conversation, the coroner mentioned that there were two shots fired at the scene; both from the same weapon. Apparently ballistics matched the round at the scene and the one found in skull of the victim. Spencer was sure that either Rossi or Prentiss were looking at the scenes by now; and he was equally sure either one of them would say that suggests the UnSub was an amateur with firearms. He probably knew the area well enough to know where to lay in wait for Sugar to return from a date, took a shot which missed, and then hit her on the second try as she attempted to flee.

Mandy Short, the slashing, was found on a park bench. The wounds on her throat say that the UnSub came up from behind her. There were also hesitation marks, which suggested this was also an unfamiliar thing for him to be doing. The lack of defensive wounds or forensic evidence told Spencer that this UnSub put at least some planning into this kill; he had sense enough to avoid getting spatter on himself, for example, and despite being new to killing, he was efficient enough to complete the deed before Mandy could put up a fight. So far, it was looking like this UnSub was young, but organized, probably quite bright. Those hesitation marks in particular suggested the different methods were not a forensic counter measure; all the more evident with the consistent signature.

Brenda Williams, the stabbing, also showed hesitation marks. The Coroner suggested that those marks may be more the result of stabbing by way of reaching around the victim than because of any reluctance. Again, the UnSub came from behind, and stabbed Williams in the chest; puncturing her lung. This was actually a very effective blow; it prevented her from screaming out, and she ultimately drowned in her own blood. Again, this indicated considerable forethought on part of the UnSub; he might be new to the art of killing, but either he was learning quickly or has been thinking about doing this for a long time. He possibly even did a great deal of research on the subject.

Kacey, the strangulation, was once again done from behind with a makeshift garrote. The Coroner suggested it was maybe a piano wire or a guitar string. So the UnSub was resourceful. In this case, there was no hesitation; in fact, based on how deep the lacerations on her neck were, it looked like maybe this was the murder the UnSub enjoyed the most. There was traces of blood under her fingernails; her own. That was most likely from her attempting to pull the string away from her neck. One thing was clear to Spencer; each killing was tidier than the one before. That was almost certainly deliberate; the UnSub probably wanted to keep his kills clean in order to accommodate his ritual signature. Two things came to mind as a result; first thing was why the UnSub was choosing prostitutes. The second was why was the cutting of the hair so important? The hair in particular resonated with Reid; probably because it was so close to Weems's signature.

Once JJ and Alvez were finished with the Alt-Press, JJ dialed up Prentiss. Prentiss answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Prentiss, we're basically done here." JJ reported. "I have to tell you, neither Alvez nor I think the Wellingtons have anything to do with the murders."

"Hold on a second," Prentiss stopped her. "Did you say Wellingtons, as in plural?"

"Yeah the editors of the Alt-Press are Dennis and Denise Wellington; husband and wife." JJ confirmed. "You should see this place and these two, Emily. This newsrag is hardcore Feminist, and we can definitely see that the wife is head of their household."

"That was unexpected," Prentiss commented. "But how does that exclude them? Aren't they railing against City Hall and their prostitution policy?"

"See that's the thing." JJ said. "Their angle is just the opposite of what you'd expect. They're pushing for legalization; going on the theory that this way the women would be able to safely work."

"Okay, so we put them on hold for now." Prentiss agreed. "Right now, I need you to join Rossi at the crime scenes. Last he checked in him and a detective named Aaron Strong was headed for the Williams scene." She gave JJ the address.

Rossi and Strong got through the scenes relatively quickly; they were now on their way to the site where Brenda Williams was found. Elizabeth 'Sugar' Birmingham was shot on the site where she was found; Strong told him about a damaged windshield on a truck that had a casing in it that matched ballistics wit the one found in the back of Birmingham's head. Most likely the UnSub hid in a dark corner for Sugar to finish up with a date, and then once the date was out of the way took a shot. The first one missed, giving Sugar a chance to run. So that meant this UnSub was not a very good shot; and was probably nervous about going through with it. The party inside the bowling alley covered the noise of the shots, but he didn't have a lot of time to perform his ritual.

Mandy Short operated through an agency, and was known to use the park as a route to walk home from visits with clients. She lived nearby. She was probably ambushed in the park and then left on the bench. He was clearly a little more comfortable with a blade than a gun; or maybe it just felt better- closer to what he was after. What Rossi had to take note of was that this UnSub may be new to killing, but he certainly knew where to find these girls. This was something he'd been thinking about for a long time. He seemed to have taken some time to make sure he knew their routines, too. According to Strong, there was no evidence at any scene, which meant he was organized enough to cover his tracks. He was new to killing, but he knew what he was doing.

Now they were on their way to the place where Brenda Williams was found; the stabbing.

"So, what have you got so far?" Detective Aaron Strong asked.

"The change in M.O. suggests that he's new to this. " Rossi answered. "It's like he's trying to figure what fits him; what really gets him off."

"Does that mean he's young?" Strong asked.

"It might." Rossi replied. "However, the level of organization he's displayed tells a different story. It's more likely that he's been suppressing his urges, thinking about doing this, fantasizing about it and planning carefully how he'd go about doing it."

"I don't get it. Why would he suddenly decide it's time to live out these fantasies?" Strong asked.

"It could be he felt like he was ready," Rossi said. "Or what is more typical with cases like this is that he went through some kind of stressor; loss of a job, a bad break up, death of a loved one, that kind of thing might have snapped whatever restraint he had keeping him from acting out whatever he had playing out in his mind."

Strong nodded with understanding. "We're here." He said, pulling into the rear parking lot of the pub. At the same time, JJ and Alvez showed up. Rossi guessed they were done with the Alt-Press people.

"So tell us what happened here." Alvez said after greetings were made.

"My partner and I thought this one would be our best chance to find this creep." Strong replied. "There's a group of girls that work this place. They're semi-organized; they try to look out for each other, but sometimes it's hard to do when they place gets busy. We questioned the other girls, and they were all either busy trying to get dates or on dates themselves. We also asked staff and patrons a few questions, but none of them really gave us anything useful."

Rossi looked around. If he was to use one word to describe the establishment, that word would be seedy. "Let me guess," he said. "There's no security camera here."

Strong shook his head to the negative. "That was the first thing we asked about." He said. "The low security probably provides a degree of anonymity, which is why the girls chose this place."

"Our guy probably knew that going in." Alvez said. "It makes for a perfect hunting ground."

"That's what we thought." Strong agreed. "It's no secret that they work here." He led the way to the exact place where Brenda Williams was found. "See, our guess is that our guy went into the bar, got propositioned for a date from Bren, let her lead him outside that back door," he pointed at a door, "and made his move right here."

"That makes sense," JJ commented. "It's deep enough into the alley to escape notice, and two dumpsters provide decent cover."

"Not to mention it would be dark at night, but not too dark." Alvez said, pointing out the streetlamp several yards away. "He'd have just enough light to perform his ritual."

"You make it sound like he scouted this place before doing any of this." Strong said.

"He probably did." JJ replied.

"Which is why we recommend you ask staff and patrons if they saw anyone out of the ordinary during the day? He would have been looking around, or maybe staking the place out. He's probably have shied away if anyone approached him to ask if he needed any help." Rossi said.

"You know what sticks out most of all for me?" Rossi then asked to nobody in particular. "With the exception of Birmingham, this guy always strikes from behind; even with his first kill he did it from a distance, and still ended up finishing her off from behind."

"Maybe he's physically weak." Alvez suggested. "It could be either he is afraid to do it face to face, or is unable to overpower his victims very easily."

"It could also be that he has a reason to have a low sense of self-worth," JJ added. "Maybe he has a physical deformity or he thinks he's unattractive; even if it's only perceived by him, it could be ruining his self image enough to think he can't face them."

"I'm thinking it might be a little bit of both," Rossi said matter of factly. "Add into the equation his sense of guilt over what he's doing, and this guy really doesn't want to look his victims in the eye."

"This guy is sounding like a real piece of work." Strong commented. "Once we look at Kacey, he gets to be even more complicated; we got three possibly relevant sites."

"Hold on," Alvez said. "You say there are three sites?"

"Well, yeah," Strong replied. "We have her usual place on the stroll two blocks off Pearl Street, the dump site, and the motel she used. We found a couple of drops of her blood in the parking lot. The theory Karen and I have been working on is that our guy picked her up on her stroll, took her to the Motel, killed her there –maybe in his vehicle, and then took her to his dump site. We're thinking the scarf was used to cover the wounds from the garrote during transport."

That would fit. Rossi asked to take a look at the sites anyway. Strong took them first to the stroll; that was downtown, Burlington. Rossi thought it was actually a decent looking neighborhood, considering. Next they went to the motel. This was also downtown, but on the other end; a lot seedier than the stroll, but not as bad as the pub where they found Brenda Williams. Then they saw the dump site, which was basically smack dab in the middle of both places. Rossi took note that with the exception of Mandy Short, all the killings were more or less in the downtown area. This UnSub is good; by localizing his kills, he might be defeating any effort to that Geographic Profiling thing that Reid does. Rossi wondered if that was a fluke, or if he did some research on investigative techniques.

Detective Karen Toussaint looked up towards the entrance of homicide division as she and Prentiss finished up with their review of the files.

"Oh, that's just great," she said sarcastically.

Prentiss looked up as well; she saw a woman entering the department

"Who is that?" she asked.

"That's Samantha Kruger," Toussaint answered. "She's a reporter; the reporter that broke the Barber case to the public. She even gave that son of a bitch the name."

Before Prentiss could stop her, Toussaint stormed to where Kruger was standing. Prentiss saw no option but to follow. Samantha Kruger was an attractive Caucasian blonde, about 35 years old, and smartly dressed in a custom-fitted pants suit and long coat over that. Even as they approached, the reporter had a hand in the coat pocket to produce a tape recorder.

"Hello detective!" Kruger greeted with a smile that exhibited some of the best dental work Prentiss had seen in a long time. "I see the rumors are true; you have called in the FBI."

"Shut that recorder off, Kruger." Toussaint growled. "We have nothing to say to you."

"Why is that, Detective?" Kruger asked. "Is there a reason you don't want the public to know you're finally taking the Barber investigation seriously?" She turned her attention to Prentiss. "Tell me agent, what have you found so far? Are you any closer to finding the Barber?"

"I said..." Toussaint started.

"It's alright, detective," Prentiss interjected gently. "I can handle this." She turned her attention to Kruger. "I can tell you this much right now; we have just arrived to assist the Burlington Metro Police with this case, and based on early review, we believe our subject is likely paying attention to the news, so it's in everyone's best interest to keep him in the dark for as long as possible. That will be all for now, but once we have more, I'll be sure you're the first one outside of law enforcement to know about it."

A couple of uniform cops came up and asked if there was a problem.

"Not at all," Toussaint answered. "Samantha here was just leaving. Would you two be so kind as to see her out?"

The cops gently tapped Kruger on the shoulder and showed her the way out.

_Racine, Wisconsin _

Dorothy Chatworth caressed one of the plates on her display shelf; the one with a picture of her Boots. Boots was her Siamese cat that she had to put down last month.

"I'll be joining you soon, Boots," Dorothy said to the effigy. "Don't you worry; your Dot is coming."

She turned away from the plate and made her way to where she had set up the reel to reel projector. Each step was agony; it was only a matter of time before her condition ended her miserable life. She was just about to turn on the projector to watch her favorite movie of Boots when she heard the front door open. Doctor Morton was there. Dorothy smiled with relief. She clicked on the projector and made herself comfortable on the sofa. The movie began to play as Dr. Morton sat down beside her.

_Burlington, Vermont _

By the time night came, it was all over the news that the FBI were in Burlington to help look for the Barber. It all started with an online posting from the paper; an article by Samantha Kruger. She said that she had first hand confirmation that the FBI were there, but would not comment on the case right now. Through the course of the day, local media was almost exclusively about the Barber and the FBI presence. He watched it all very closely; hoping for an image of the Federal Agents that were there.

He had also been making sure he had _her_ routine down. It was important that he had her every move and activity perfectly tracked. He had been watching for quite awhile, so he was quite certain.

Just as he knew, she had left her apartment on a regular call. Her building has no security, and she kept a hide-a-key wedged in a light fixture beside her front door. That made entry into her apartment easy; there would be no signs of forced entry. He carefully put the key back in its place and locked the door behind him once he was inside.

She left the TV on; most likely to create the illusion that someone was home. He thought about shutting it off but decided against it; she would expect it to be on when she returned. That would be in about an hour or so; all he had to do was lay in wait until then.

A news flash came on the television; a press conference with the police and the FBI. On the screen, an attractive brunette was front and centre; he recognized her as Emily Prentiss. She spoke, giving what her division called a Profile of him. To her right was a pair of detectives; he wasn't completely sure, but he thought their names might be Strong and Toussaint. To Agent Prentiss's left was a face he knew all too well. It was Dr. Spencer Reid; he also gave part of the Profile; or at least that is what he thought he was doing. He kind of stopped listening once he saw Dr. Reid; he couldn't believe he was here. All of this was sort of Spencer's fault, anyway. If Dr. Reid would have just let him die, none of this would be happening now.

He got his garrote ready. Earlier, he thought about trying a plastic bag over the head; it would be much cleaner that way. In the end, he realized that it would also be much more difficult to control the call girl – Heather, she called herself – and that the garrote just felt so right. Now, seeing Spencer Reid on the screen, a plan began to formulate; soon all of this would be over, and the Doctor would pay for his mistake.

_Racine, Wisconsin_

It was a simple enough matter for Dexter to find the home/office of Julian Bishop, Private Investigator. Based on the look of the place, Dexter guessed that most of Bishop's work consisted of taking dirty pictures of rich spouses to prove they were having affairs. He had no doubt that such assignments could prove to be highly lucrative, this guy wasn't capitalizing on that possibility very well. Either that or he was terrible at managing his finances. Not that he was complaining about this; quite the contrary in fact.

He found the place early in the afternoon, and watched and waited. During that time, he scoped the residence which also served as Bishop's office to discover his security consisted of a few stickers in the windows stating the place was guarded by some now defunct security firm. Beyond that he spent much of his time catching up on some reading; specifically a biography on James Doakes written by Vince Masuka that he noticed on the bookshelf of a pharmacist shop. The idea that Vince actually wrote the biography he said he would amused Dexter; he just had to pick up a copy – even if to support his former co-worker and friend from afar. As it turned out, this was actually Vince's second book; his first being about Brian Moser.

In the acknowledgements, Vince thanked Astor Morgan for her help with research and fact checking.

_Yes, thanks, Astor, I'm sure you helped make sure Vince didn't uncover anything he doesn't need to know._

The best part, Dexter believed, was the opening sentence:

_'Sgt. Detective James Doakes would rather burn than get burned'._

Dexter remembered when Vince came up with that line; he was there when it was first spoken.

_Forget this Bumblefuck, Dex_ Deb suggested from the back seat of his rental car. _There's no way he has anything useful; Jake Elway may have been a prick, but at least he knew what he was doing most of the time._

"Just doing due diligence, Debs." Dexter replied. "It's best that I know for sure; besides, he might prove to be an obstacle. Anyway, I'm here now, and now it looks like he's going out."

Sure enough, Bishop got into his silver colored Camry and pulled out of the driveway. Dexter set the book aside, waited until he was certain Bishop cleared away, and made his way to the home/office. After easily picking the lock to the rear entrance, Dexter made quick work of finding Bishop's desktop computer; it was in a den off the front room. Could he be so fortunate that Bishop wouldn't bother with a password to protect his files?

No such luck. When Dexter clicked the mouse on the icon for Bishop's case files, and a request for a password came up. Dexter tried the word 'password' which proved to be unsuccessful. He then tried as many variations of the same word as he could think of, replacing the letters with numbers and characters until he finally got a hit: Bishop's password was '9 $$w0r6'.

Once he was in, Dexter went to the file marked 'Tenant'. There he found that Bishop knew a little bit, some of it was even useful. All the victims died of an injection of a combination of Pentobarbital and Dilatin; usually used to euthanize pets, most typically cats. Apparently Bishop was clever enough to notice that, too, and to make the connection to veterinarians. He had compiled a list of veterinarians within a geographic profile like the one Lumen worked up; he came up with about a hundred different names.

_He's probably checking those vets out now, son._ Harry pointed out over his shoulder. _He's got a head start on you_.

"That's true," Dexter replied nonchalantly. "But I wonder if he thought to inquire why some of the names also serve as links." He clicked on one the links, the first one he saw. That led to a web page for Dr. Jonathon Abrams; this page was a profile page for a site called the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society. Dexter clicked the tab that would send him to the WACAPS home page, from which he read about what this organization was about.

It was more or less what anyone would expect. WACAPS was an animal rights advocacy group, this one largely operated by Veterinarians. For the most part there wasn't much of interest, except that for some reason this group had a Department of Euthanasia. This would certainly help narrow down the suspect pool, or at least give him a head start in vetting possible suspects. The DOE of WACAPS had three members; one in Milwaukee, one in Green Bay, and one here in Racine.

_You might want to let this one go, son_. Harry suggested. _Odds are good this Bishop guy made the same connection and has gone to the police if he found anything. If there is anything to this trend, let the cops handle it._

"We're about to find out if he has made the same connections as I have." Dexter retorted. He went to browser history to examine where Bishop had been recently; hoping that he hadn't deleted it lately. Lucky for Dexter, Bishop had not deleted anything; certainly not today. In fact, it looked as if he hadn't deleted his history since before he took on the Linda Tenant case. Even better news; there was no sign of WACAPS anywhere in the history. That meant Bishop might have a head start, but Dexter thought he just found one hell of a shortcut. Going back to the DOE page, Dexter made a mental note of all three members, their location, and their contact information. With that settled Dexter removed the browsing history and shut down the computer before leaving. By then it was getting late, and he felt he had to contact Harrison and Hannah before turning in. First thing in the morning, he would into the DOE vets, starting with the one in Racine.


	4. Chapter 4

_Burlington, Vermont_

After delivering the Profile, Spencer Reid set to working up a geographic profile. The female detective, Toussaint, sat and watched as he worked.

"Can I ask you something?" Toussaint asked. "What do you hope to accomplish by drawing on that map?"

Before answering, Reid contemplated the odd habit people had where they asked if they could ask a question before asking the asking the actual question they want to ask. It was weird.

"Serial Killers like our UnSub tend to operate within a comfort zone; by plotting out the crime scenes and the dump sites, we can work out that comfort zone and likely learn where he either lives or works. " Reid explained. "Given the way Burlington is laid out, the fact that the UnSub hunts and kills in the downtown area, odds are more likely we'll find where he works."

Toussaint leaned forward a little to study the map as Reid finished his profile and made a small chirping noise in the back of her throat. Reid took it to indicate she was impressed. "There are quite a few private businesses in that area." She said. "Your profile said the guy is likely in his late twenties or early thirties; and either well off independently or running a small business that allows him time to research his targets. What about a hair salon or something like that? I mean, the haircuts he gives post mortem look like they might be professional, right?"

"Actually, yeah," Reid agreed. "I assume you and Detective Strong have checked out local hairdressers and barbers."

"Of course," she confirmed. "Nothing really hit, but we could go back and look at them again. Also, maybe we ought to ask the ladies of the night where they get their hair done."

"That's a good idea." Reid said. "Also, I'd like a list of those so we can run a record check on the names." He glanced at his watch and realized how late it was getting. "Are we the last ones here?" He asked.

Toussaint looked around. "I guess we are. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking about heading home and getting some sleep."

Reid decided that was probably a good idea. He figured he could update Prentiss on his way back to the hotel.

_San Diego, California_

Hannah picked up the landline on the third ring, just before voice mail would have kicked in. The call display read 'Frank C.', which was of course Dexter's cell phone.

"Castle/Fisher residence; Jennifer speaking," Hannah greeted despite knowing who was calling and that Dexter would know who he was really calling. It was good to keep up habits when it came to upholding an identity.

"Hey, hon," Dexter greeted back, unaffected. "Listen I know it's late, but I really wanted to hear your voice and Harrison's."

Glancing at the clock, Hannah was momentarily confused; it wasn't all that late. Harrison was just in the bath. Then she realized that it would be much later in Wisconsin.

"Time zones, dear," Hannah replied. "It's not really late at all to us. How's Wisconsin treating you?"

"Well, it's cold, for one thing. I won't miss that once I'm done here." Dexter said. "I got the branch all set up, so I shouldn't be much longer."

"I take it that means you're making progress on your project, then?"

"Yeah, I'm just on my way to do some important research on that." Dexter confirmed. "By any chance is Harrison around?"

"He's in the bath." Hannah advised. "I can take the phone to him if you want."

"No, that's alright." He dismissed the notion. "Just let him know I called to say goodnight and tell him I'll be home soon."

"Okay. I'll do that." Hannah said. "Oh, by the way, I guess you should know that Coalworth is still all over the news; cops and FBI are saying they loads of leads as to where he might have gone, Tahiti authorities insist he's not there, and apparently cop and Fed offices are flooded with requests from parents of the missing children to confirm if their kids are alive or dead."

"Wow, that's terrible," Dexter said in just the right tone of voice. "Is there any suspicion of foul play?"

"No," Hannah answered. "Harrison's been watching the story very closely and so far nothing like that. Coalworth's definitely taken off somewhere. Harrison is sure he'll never be found." While Hannah was glad that her man and their son had covered their tracks well, it was starting to disturb her a little how quickly Harrison was picking up on how to avoid detection while living as they did. It was good for them, but it still seemed wrong that a boy Harrison's age would take to it so readily. Usually, she could convince herself it was all out of necessity, but somehow with Harrison it seemed...different. It was more like it all came naturally to him.

"Well, I guess I should let you go; I'm sure you have plenty to do still. Good night, Frank. Thanks for calling. I love you."

"I love you, too," Dexter said back, ending their conversation.

_Washington, DC_

After their shift, Joe Quinn joined Will LaMontagne for drinks at a local watering hole that was popular with cops. He had just gotten off a call with Em; she seemed cold to him. He got that she was on the job, but it was still rubbing him all wrong. It was like she warm one second, cold the next. For the life of him he could not figure out what she was up to. What was going on with her?

"Something on your mind, Joe?" Will asked.

Joe slammed down his shot of Bourbon. "It's probably nothing," he said finally. "It's just Emily stuff."

Will perked up, interested. "What's going on?"

Joe winced, feigning to wave it off. "Like I said, it's probably nothing; she's knee deep in a tough case in Vermont. I know she didn't mean to blow me off..."

"She's running hot one day, cold the next; am I right?" Will guessed. "It feels like she's hiding behind her work to keep you at a distance?"

Joe didn't say anything. He didn't need to. It was clear to him that Will knew exactly what he was going through.

"Let me tell you something," Will carried on. "JJ and I met on case back in New Orleans when I was a detective there. We had a lady who slashing the men who raped her at Mardi Gras years before and leaving messages Jack the Ripper style. The BAU came in to help out, and we found her – the lady, I mean. Me and JJ started dating on weekends from a distance after that, and for a long time she tried to keep our relationship away from her team. In public, we only knew each professionally. You're a good detective; you see where this is going?"

"She was hot one day, cold the next," Joe said nodding slowly. "Kind of like how Em is now."

"Turns out she just scared, Joe." Will added. "She was scared that what we have was real and that she'd find some way to mess it all up, or that one of us would get hurt on the job or something like that. "

"Getting hurt is an occupational hazard!" Joe objected. "She's got to know that." Joe was definitely picking up on what Will was getting at.

"My point is she's most likely scared of losing what you have, so she's tryin' to keep keep things right where they are."

"But you and JJ worked it out." Joe replied. "You stuck it out and convinced her you weren't going to bail on her."

"Something like that." Will confirmed. "Through JJ, I've known Emily a long time now; stick with her, and I'm sure it'll all work out alright."

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Before doing this part of his reconnaissance, Dexter switched out of his car rental and borrowed an SUV type vehicle from the fleet at Caste Couriers; it was unmarked until the magnetic logos got put on, so there would be nothing to incriminate him, the company, or Lumen if things happened to go sideways. It was easy to find both the office and residence of one Dr. Angela Morton; a drive-by showed she was not at home, and he could see right now that her office was closed for the night. In fact, the animal clinic where her office was located was closed entirely.

It was shortly after he called to check in with Harrison and Hannah that a news bulletin came in on the radio; yet another suicide in Racine. This time it was seventy year old Dorothy 'Dot' Chatworth; who was found dead in her home in front a film projector loaded up with homemade movies featuring a cat. Her death was ruled a suicide, and she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer; which had gotten into her bones. She was scheduled to go into a hospice next week. Dexter snapped off the radio; he already recognized the pattern. She was found to have injected herself with a euthanizing substance.

The doctor's office had better security than Bishop's, but not by much. Defeating the alarm system was a simple matter, and the locks were pretty easily picked. The tricky part was getting in without disturbing the patients. Even that wasn't too difficult; they were way in the back rooms, nowhere near where Dexter needed to go.

Her office door was also locked; again, he picked it with ease. Grinning, he congratulated himself for still having his chops. Inside the office, he wondered if Doctor Morton might be a little bit OCD, it was so tidy. He'd have to take extra care not to disturb anything.

_That's okay, though. I like to keep things in order, too. _

He thought about trying the computer, but then noticed she had a day planner right there on her desk. He figured this might be an easier mission than he originally anticipated. He carefully perused through the planner, looking specifically at the dates on and immediately before the suicides were discovered.

"Well, what do you know," Dexter said to himself. "Doctor Morton had D.O.E. appointments every single time; and always shortly before either she or one of the other two did."

_Look at the names, son._ Harry chimed in. _Those could just as easily be pet names. This could be nothing. _

"Most of them are initials that match the names of the victims." Dexter retorted. "And look at this; tomorrow morning we have the initials P.B. in Green Bay. How safe of a bet do you think it is that either tomorrow or the next day we see a suicide in Green Bay?" Dexter flipped back a couple of pages and found a record of a euthanizing for a dog named Snow; authorized by a Pierre Beauchamp of Green Bay, Wisconsin. "You have to admit, dad, it fits."

_So what's your plan?_ Harry asked. _Wait until tomorrow or the next day to see if there's a report about this Pierre Beauchamp committing suicide?_

"Pretty much," Dexter confirmed. He set the planner back down on the desk, exactly as he found it. Next he made his way to a medicine chest; it was blissfully locked with a simple padlock. Once he had it opened, he looked through it, found the Pentobarbital and Pheytoin he was expecting to find, and then he saw she also had a decent supply of M-99; the animal tranquilizer that used to be his favorite means of subduing his playmates. It was like a late Christmas present.

_Burlington, Vermont_

Late night became early morning and he simply could not fall asleep. There was still no report regarding Heather; he had to suppose she wasn't found yet. He guessed that made some sense; he did leave her in her apartment and locked the door behind him. Also, she lived alone, so it might take awhile; maybe even days before someone comes along to check in on her.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. Not his work; he was thinking about his real job. He had several hours before he would open up his salon; of course, he had an early appointment with a regular client. In fact, that client –her name was Phoebe- may even unknowingly provide a lead to another girl; that was how he caught on to Heather. So far, that was just about the only reason Phoebe was still alive...

Why did he keep thinking like this? It was sick and wrong. Ever since his mother got killed he couldn't stop. He always knew it would be like this; Agent Gideon's assessment proved it. He tried to stop it, but Spencer Reid wouldn't let him. Soon, though, he would make Dr. Reid pay for that mistake.

As of now, he was in the 24 hour coffee shop in the plaza where his salon was located. There were a total of 4 units on the ground level: His salon, the coffee shop, a vitamin and fitness emporium, and a convenience store. The second floor was a gym, and the third floor was where the Alt-Press was published. Before opening up, he got himself a large coffee and the morning paper. The front page had a headline warning the city Burlington and the surrounding area of a blizzard starting later that morning.

"Good morning, Nathan!" the barista had greeted him warmly. "So it looks like we're finally going to get that snow!"

"That's what the paper says," Nathan Lewis agreed. "I hope it's not too much, that could cancel a lot of my appointments." He couldn't remember her name, but he did quite like her; she was always friendly.

"Oh, right, I didn't think of that." She replied. "At this location we're bound to get loads of walk-ins."

Nathan gave her a shy smile and took a table with his coffee and began to flip through the paper; there wasn't anything new about the Barber. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. There wasn't even mention of the FBI or their Profile, which he had to admit, was more hits than misses about him. They didn't really know any specifics, but they were certainly on the right track. Then again, chances were they only gave a very general summary to the press; they would keep their real insights a lot closer to the chest. That would be reserved for themselves and the police. That was a good thing; it meant that Spencer would close in on him sooner than later. Once he did, then he would pay for his mistake.

The snow had begun to fall about an hour before sunrise and Heather had still not called. She was supposed to call as soon as she was done with her client; that was what they agreed to do after the Barber story broke. It was possible that Heather just forgot, but Phoebe Morrisette was still worried. After all, the check in call thing was Heather's idea. There was nothing to say that either of necessarily had to answer right away; but they were supposed to call and at least leave a message.

Phoebe thought about trying to call her, but in the end she decided she would go to Heather's apartment to check in person. It was a different part of the city, so that meant driving in the falling snow. All along the way, Phoebe tried to tell herself that everything was fine; that she was just being a worry wart. Along the way, she passed by the building that held the Alt-Press and Nathan's Salon. Nathan was something of genius with hair; it was well worth going to him, even if he only worked by appointment. The salon was really more of a hobby for him; Nathan Lewis was some kind of trust-fund kid or got a big inheritance or something. At least this trip put her in the right area to keep her appointment today. She could stay and visit with Heather after her check in until it was time.

She pulled her car up in front of Heather's building; it was a nicer building in a slightly less affluent neighborhood. There was no buzzer or even a lock on the front door; that missing feature always made Phoebe nervous about Heather's security, especially given their profession. Her apartment was much more secure; guests had to buzz in, and there were cameras in the foyer. Phoebe once suggested Heather move into a unit in her building, which offered both rental units and units for sale, but Heather insisted on staying where she was. She was saving up to make a house purchase.

Phoebe took the elevator up to Heather's floor and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she put her ear to it and could hear the television playing at a low volume. She was home and watching something, or she was out with a client; she always shut it off if she was asleep. She knocked again; a little louder this time. There was still no answer. From under the crack at the bottom of the door, Phoebe could see that at least one light was on. She looked up at light fixture right beside the door. She knew that was where Heather kept a hidden key. After a moment of contemplation, Phoebe reached up and found the key to unlock the door.

"Heather, are you home?" She called softly as she rapped on the door while opening it.

There was still no answer. Phoebe let herself in. There was still a chance she was out and forgot to call between clients. Or at least that's what she thought until she noticed that one of the chairs in the dining room just beyond kitchen was missing from the table. Phoebe Morrisette could swear she felt her heart stop. She trotted down the short hallway into the main room. That was when she saw Heather, sitting in the missing chair in the centre of the room, facing the television. Hair was scattered all across the floor, and Heather's head was tilted back so that Phoebe could see the thin marking around Heather's throat. Her blouse was opened up and there was some kind of markings on her stomach.

Phoebe didn't get a very good look at the markings; she turned and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to get sick before dialing 911.

_Green Bay, Wisconsin_

The case of Pierre Beauchamp held a special place in the heart of Dr. Angela Morton. At first, she thought it was because of the dog; she had a dog when she was a little girl, too. After actually meeting Pierre, though, she found that he reminded her of her father. Like her father, Pierre Beauchamp was diagnosed with ALS, more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. He also had a demeanor similar to her dad; or at least the way she liked to remember him when he was still at his best. Very much like Pierre, her dad insisted on living life on his own terms, not anyone else's. Even better than that, they both seemed to b able to do just that, and do so in a firm yet gentle way. Much like her dad, Pierre Beauchamp wanted to die as he lived; on his own terms.

Dr. Angela Morton was happy to oblige. She met with him yesterday afternoon, and their appointment was made for today. All the arrangements were made; this would be as clean as all the others. Outside her hotel room window, she could see that it had snowed overnight; a fair bit, too. From what she could see the City of Green Bay was on top of it, though; the roads appeared to be cleared. The fact that Mr. Beauchamp named his dog, a gorgeous French bulldog, snow, suggested to her that he would appreciate blanket that covered the ground. He had picked a lovely lookout spot on the outskirts of the city with a fantastic view of skyline for their final appointment; she imagined it would be a winter wonderland that he would be looking over as he drew his final breath. It was a honor and a privilege for her to be a part of his choice. She wiped a tear of gratitude from her eye and got up to go to the hotel lounge for breakfast.

_Burlington, Vermont_

SSA Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau couldn't speak for anyone else on the team, but she knew she didn't get much sleep before the call came in about Heather Camp. Detectives Strong and Toussaint were sure that the Barber had struck again. When the team got to the scene, they were quick to determine that certainly seemed to be the case.

"It's a nice building, but there's no security." Spence commented. He looked to JJ like he'd gotten even less sleep than she had. "It would have been easy for the UnSub to get into the building without drawing much attention to himself."

"At the right time of night, it's even possible that nobody saw him enter or leave at all." JJ agreed.

They made their way to the apartment where Heather was found; Prentiss, Rossi and Alvez were already there, along with Strong, Toussaint, and the Metro Crime Scene Techs. Prentiss had managed to prevent the techs from doing anything that would tamper with the scene so they could look at it as the UnSub had left it.

"Her name's Heather Camp," Strong said. "We found her ID. Turns out she's a call girl."

"She was found by an associate and co-worker named Phoebe Morrisette." Toussaint added, pointing at a woman sitting in the corner. "She called it in, but she's still pretty shook up."

Prentiss paused a moment in thought. "Do we know how she got into the suite?" She asked finally. "Did she have a key?"

"She didn't need one. She said that Heather kept a hide-a-key wedged into the light fixture beside her front door." Strong replied.

"We're thinking that maybe Heather and Phoebe had some kind of buddy system going on." Toussaint said. "She did say she came by here to check in on Heather after she didn't call when she said she would."

That made sense to JJ. It seemed likely that with the Barber on the loose, working girls would try to watch each other's backs. The team had seen that kind of thing before; the girls in DC did the same kind of thing during the Weems case.

"Okay," Prentiss said. "Alvez and I will join Toussaint and Strong taking Phoebe back to the precinct. We'll talk to her there; maybe she'll calm down and be more responsive once we get her out of her friend's apartment. Rossi, you, JJ and Reid stay here and see what we can get out of this scene. Maybe we'll learn more about our UnSub here."

"Actually, I'd like to stay here on the scene." Strong insisted. Nobody had a problem with that, so Prentiss, Alvez and Toussaint left and the others started processing the scene.

"It certainly looks like our UnSub," JJ began. "He's getting more confident; graduating up to killing his targets in their homes now."

"It's his second strangulation." Spence observed, indicating the ligature marks on Heather's neck. "Apparently he's found his method and weapon of choice. Those marks look like they were made by the same makeshift garrote he used on Kacey. It also looks like he's getting more comfortable and controlled in his role; he's not shedding nearly as much blood, most likely because he doesn't want to mess up their hair before his ritual of cutting it."

"That would be a safe bet." Rossi agreed. "But it seems he's added a new feature to his signature. Come take a look at his."

JJ and Spence came around to where Rossi was in front of the victim. Her blouse was opened up and a message was cut into her abdomen:

**I  
BLAME  
U**

"Even more like Weems," JJ said, mostly to Spence. "He took to leaving messages of blame and failure on his victims too."

"That's new." Strong commented. "Do you think this guy was mad at this one specifically? That maybe he's saying it's her own fault because of her occupation?"

"That's possible, but not terribly likely." Spence replied. "He's still showing remorse by cutting her hair, and the fact he's showing more control other than the message suggests the message isn't for her."

"Then who's he blaming?" Strong asked. "Who's this message for?"

"That's the question." Rossi answered. "We answer that, and we get ahead of this guy."

JJ watched as Spence's eyes darted left and right; his usual tell that he was quickly collating all the facts and statistics his big brain held, making connections that nobody else ever would.

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Julian Bishop's office was also his home. When he returned from doing his legwork, he knew something was wrong; he knew somebody had been there while he was gone. He went through the place from top to bottom, front to back, and was able to determine that nothing was missing. His hard copy case files were untouched. Really the only way he knew someone had been there was that he could see some of the micro-thin threads on his desk had been broken; specifically the ones he always left on his mouse. That could only mean that somebody had been inside and had accessed his computer; why they didn't try to hack in remotely he didn't know.

Julian turned on his computer, entered his password to his files, and then thought to check the browsing history; which had been removed.

"Too bad for you, asshole," Bishop muttered, "I know how to recover browsing history."

At first, when he restored the history, it looked as if someone just came in to do nothing but erase his history; particularly that which pertained to his current investigation. That would be what Julian would think, except for the time stamps on the most recent views. Combine that with the fact some of the sites were definitely sites he hadn't looked at yet.

"So what the fuck?" Bishop asked himself. "Is someone tracking me now? If so, why?" He wondered if maybe some other private dick was trying to horn in on him. It wouldn't be the first time. Whoever it was, they made a mistake. They added to his data. He took a look at what they looked at.

As it turned out, they might have been onto something. Their search focused in on the Department of Euthanasia for the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society. Whoever was using his computer, they probably figured it was one of the Vets in the DOE of WACAPS that at the very least gave the suicides the drugs to do themselves in. It was a good lead. Bishop made a note to check with Mrs. Tenant which Vet took care of their pet. Before he did that, though, he wanted to research everything he could find on WACAPS. Experience taught him that it was wise to know what he was getting into whenever he was about to start meddling with groups or collectives; it could get hairy and weird really fast.

_Burlington, Vermont_

Samantha Kruger wasn't stupid. When that Fed said she would keep her in the loop, it was an obvious lie; the Feds almost never wanted to let anything out to the press. They were afraid of the press revealing their mistakes and ineptitude; and they covered that up by claiming their muzzling of the press, of free speech, was to ensure their suspect wouldn't be able to follow their investigation. This was why, when she heard about another Barber body turning up on the scanner, she went to the scene, and then followed the vehicles that left the scene to the precinct. She had no intention of trying to talk to the cops or the agents; not yet. Instead, she waited outside the cop shop in her car for their little friend to come out from her interview.

Samantha doubted the friend was a suspect. For one thing, it was a woman which made it much less likely. Second, Samantha recognized her as a call girl from a piece she did a few years ago when prostitution was the issue in the city; just before the Civic Election. Her name was Phoebe something- she couldn't remember the last name, if it was even given- and their talk was actually pretty good, so Samantha figured they already had a good rapport. Sam was willing to bet that Phoebe was the one who called the body was in, and so that was the person to talk to for a good scoop.

Even in the current near blizzard conditions, the food truck that parked across the street from the cop shop was there; serving up food and coffee for the cops and businesses in the immediate area. To be fair, the truck did make a brilliant coffee, and their breakfast sammies were some of the best in town. On that note, Samantha decided to brave the storm for the truck. At the truck, she looked over to the building and caught sight of Wellington from that rag of a mag the Alt-Press clomp his way in, most likely after the same story she was. She wasn't worried; if she remembered right, Phoebe had a good head on her shoulders and saw the Alt-Press as the group of fake-news hacks that they were.

She bought a breakfast sammie and a coffee for herself, and a coffee that she intended to give to Phoebe once she came out of the building. Then she headed over to the Precinct entrance to wait. By the time she finished her sandwich, Phoebe stormed out, shouting some obscenity over her shoulder; a quick glance inside the door told Samantha that the remark was directed at both the Feds and Wellington. That was good; she could play off that. If she did this right, she might even be able to make the evening edition.

"Hey, Phoebe!" Samantha called out, chasing after her. Phoebe stopped and looked over, and then rolled her eyes once she saw who called her. She did stop walking, though.

"I just told that hack Wellington off, Kruger," Phoebe said sharply. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"Because you know me, Phoebe," Samantha replied. "We did good work together last time, remember? You know that I'm not going to misquote you to match up to some narrative agenda; I only want to get the truth out." She offered Phoebe one of the coffees, which the call girl took. "My car is right over there," Samantha continued, indicating her car. "I can give you a lift to wherever you want."

Phoebe agreed, but only because she was running late for a hair appointment with Nathan. Ironically, Nathan's was in the same little strip mall that the Alt-Press headquarters were at.

_Green Bay, Wisconsin _

Doctor Angela Morton sat down beside Pierre Beauchamp on the now abandoned dock where Pierre had worked at until the dock was shut down. It did offer a splendid view over the lake, she had to admit that; and apparently his days working here were some of his happiest memories. Once again, she found that Pierre reminded her a bit of her own father in many ways. Her dad was a foreman in a paper mill, and he had a set of principles that he would not deviate from; he lived on his own terms without compromise, which is why he took his own life once he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's. The one big difference between her dad and Pierre is that Pierre's Catholic upbringing instilled in him that suicide is a mortal sin. Apparently he was okay with the world thinking he killed himself, so long as his God knew the reality. Angela respected that; even admired that kind of devotion to his faith.

Once she confirmed that Pierre was indeed ready and had all his affairs in order, she made sure he fully understood what was going to happen and gave him one last chance to call it all off. Pierre Beauchamp was certain he wanted this, and that he fully understood all the ramifications. Satisfied, Angela administered the drug, and watched as Pierre Beauchamp slipped into his final slumber on his favorite dock.


	5. Chapter 5

_Burlington,Vermont_

Nathan glanced up at the large overhead clock he kept in his salon. Phoebe was running late; it was even possible she would not show up due to the snow. On the television in the waiting area, a breaking news flash came on; Heather had been discovered. The Anchor had turned the story over to a live reporter at the Precinct, who was trying to get answers from the attractive Brunette that was apparently on point during the profile he saw last night at Heather's apartment. Agent Prentiss, her name was. She was refusing to comment. The reporter asked who it was that found the body; Prentiss refused to divulge the witnesses' identity. Nathan took a guess that whoever it was; they were probably under police protection. The reporter also asked if the witness actually saw the suspect or had any idea who the Barber might be, and again Prentiss declined to answer, saying she was at liberty to reply to that question. It didn't matter; Nathan already knew the answer. Nobody saw him. If Dr. Reid and the BAU knew anything more about him because of this witness, they were keeping it to themselves for the time being. Although part of him was frustrated and doubted they were any closer to stopping him, he kept up a glimmer of hope that Dr. Reid would figure it out.

Nathan opened up the door to his salon and leaned out to look at the road, which was already covered with a compacted layer of snow; it was really coming down hard. That was when a familiar looking car pulled up to the curb of the plaza. It wasn't Phoebe's Civic, but Phoebe did step out of the passenger seat of this much more expensive looking car and after a quick wave to the driver turned and raced towards the salon as fast as she dared as the car pulled away. Smiling, Nathan stepped out and held the door open for the call-girl. It occurred to him he could make things very easy for the FBI; he could just kill her right here in his salon and walk away. Then they would be able to easily identify him has their 'unknown subject' and come for him. Then he could make sure Spencer paid for his mistake and all of this would be over...

"Sorry I'm late Nathan!" Phoebe cried as she bustled in past him. "I've been having a very bad day."

"I've had more than a few of those myself," Nathan replied. "What happened?" He asked, offering her a seat in front of the mirrored wall.

"It's that bastard the Barber." Phoebe answered. "He got to Heather last night, even with us doing our buddy system!"

"That's awful" Nathan exclaimed. "I'm so sorry for your loss; I know you two were close." Right then and there, he decided to hold off as long as he could. Her information might be useful.

"Thank you, Nathan." Phoebe replied. "On top of that, the Feds are trying to blame her for getting murdered!"

Internally, Nathan seethed. He was starting to get an idea of how Phoebe would have that notion; and understood that it meant that the BAU missed the point of his little message entirely.

"That's ridiculous." He said dryly.

"I know, right?" She agreed. "Just because that creep cut I BLAME YOU on her belly. I mean, maybe he's some kind of wacko that blames the girls, but that's on him, right?"

"He wrote on her?" Nathan played along as if he didn't know. "How do you know that?"

Phoebe glared at him through the mirror as if he hadn't been paying attention, but then relented. "Oh, right, I didn't say yet." She said. "When Heather didn't call me after she finished with her client, I went to her place to check in on her. I was the one who found her after the Barber got her. Then I called the cops, and then they took me to the station to talk about it."

"That sounds terrible! I guess the press were right on top of that, too." Nathan prompted.

"Well, yeah, they were." Phoebe confirmed. "One of those virtue signalling vultures at the Alt-Press actually came into the station, but I told him off. Then Samantha Kruger was outside. Don't get me wrong, I like Sam; she's actually pretty good about telling the truth in a fair way. She even gave me a ride here."

Nathan smiled. Samantha Kruger got the scoop. She would almost certainly write a piece on him – or maybe the ineptitude of the FBI and police. That might help him; he could use her story – maybe even Samantha herself- to achieve his ends.

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Dexter woke with a craving for pancakes unlike he had had in a long time. Happily enough, he had decided the night before to use Lumen's guest room after he had finished his reconnaissance. This was a happy piece of serendipity for Dear old Dexter because on waking and padding into the kitchen, he found Lumen making the very pancakes he was craving. Even better, she had already had a large stack of bacon cooked to perfection ready, and a pot of coffee freshly brewed.

"Good morning!" She greeted cheerfully, pointing with the flipper at the coffee pot before turning the pancake.

Dexter greeted her back and took a cup. He had to admit, she had a good memory; it was clear to him that she was trying to butter him up so he would share whatever he had come up with in regards to the suicides. SH remembered his love of breakfast; pancakes in particular, and was now banking on that to help her cause. It wasn't necessary; he would have shared what he found anyway if she asked. That didn't mean he would turn away a breakfast, though. From the kitchen, the living room was visible, and he had an unobstructed view to the television, which was muted on a news channel. The scroll along the bottom of the screen was reading something about a pipeline dispute in Western Canada involving the government and a First Nations tribe that Dexter wasn't even going to try to pronounce. The graphic behind the anchor changed to an image of an elderly man with the word suicide stamped across it. Dexter quickly recognized the likeness as that of one Pierre Beauchamp of Green Bay, Wisconsin.

"Hey, can we unmute this?" He asked, pointing to the television.

"Sure," Lumen answered, picking up a remote and taking off the muting.

"...once again, Metropolitan authorities in Green Bay were called to the docks where Pierre Beauchamp, aged eighty three, was found deceased on the pier where he worked until his retirement. All signs indicate that Mr. Beauchamp is added to the alarmingly growing list of apparent suicides throughout the state."

"I knew it." Dexter muttered.

_That's circumstantial at best Dexter_. Harry cautioned.

"Pancakes are ready." Lumen said, sliding a plate across the counter in front of him. "So this guy; is he an actual suicide, or a victim?"

"I'm pretty sure I know who's behind this." Dexter replied.

"I forgot how fast you work." Lumen commented. "So you're going to set your table?"

"Not yet, I don't have proof." Dexter answered. "You know how this works, Lumen; I have to be sure."

"Right," Lumen said, a hint of dismay in her voice. "So what's it going to take?"

_More than you have._ Harry said.

"More than I have," Dexter said.

Julian Bishop was satisfied with his research on the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society and felt comfortable enough proceeding with his investigation; he kept in mind to be careful, however. They did have a good legal team representing them, and experience taught him that a good legal team could turn just about anything into a courtroom circus if they wanted to.

With that in mind, he decided it was about time to pay a visit to his client, Linda Tenant. Once at her door, her knocked and removed his hat as she opened the door, putting on his best look of sincerity and concern.

"Mr. Bishop," Linda greeted, sounding pleased despite her rather haggard appearance. "Am I ever glad to see you! Please, come in, I just made a pot of coffee."

Julian thanked her graciously as she stepped aside to make way for him to enter. She offered him a seat in the main room while she got the coffee. She soon came back with a tray that had two steaming cups, a glass bottle full of milk, and a bowl of sugar.

"Since you're here, I'm going to assume you have something new about my son?" Linda prompted. "You found something to prove Jeremy didn't kill himself?" She added hopefully.

"Well, Missus Tenant, I found something, I think; though I'm not sure yet what it proves exactly." Julian replied. "If I remember right, Jeremy died shortly after your family had to put down a pet. Now I know this must be difficult for you, but I promise you, this could be relevant. Do I have the timeline right?"

Linda, misty-eyed, nodded. "That's right," she confirmed. "Jeremy was so upset over it, but he wouldn't go and..."

"I believe you." Julian soothed. "That's not where I'm going with this. Here's what I need to know: By any chance did you have any contact with a group called the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society?"

"Well, yes, of course we did." Linda said. "That was who we contacted to..." she hesitated, not quite able to say the words. "...to get it done. Are you saying that WACAPS had something to do with what happened to my son?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure." Julian answered. "It's just a matter of due diligence. Right now I only want to be sure I have reason to ask them a couple of questions. Can you tell me who in the group you specifically dealt with?"

Linda thought about it for a moment. "Well, first we tried to contact Dr. Morton, she's the most local, but she was apparently very busy, so we got referred to Dr. Abrams in Milwaukee. He was very nice about it. Why do you want to know about him?"

"That's Dr. Jonathan Abrams; right?" Julian asked for confirmation. "He was referred to you by Dr. Angela Morton?"

"Yes, that's right." Linda confirmed. "Well, actually, it was her secretary; Dr. Morton wasn't available to take my call."

"Thank you, Missus Tenant; you've been very helpful." Julian said, standing up and placing his hat back on. "I have to say that I cannot underscore this enough; right now all I'm doing is due diligence. I'm more trying to remove any suspicion from both of the doctor's names and their organisation as a whole than I am trying to implicate them in anything. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes..." Linda stammered. It was clear that she did not, but was willing to trust that the private detective knew what he was doing. That was good enough for his purposes. Now, in the event of any court action against him, it can be verified what his intentions were based on at least one witness.

_Quantico, Virginia_

"This is Prentiss," Emily answered when Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia called. "What do you have for us, Garcia?"

"I'm glad you asked." Garcia answered back. "You'd probably be surprised at just how many hairdressers there are in Burlington, but I narrowed the field down by focusing in on those who keep client lists, particularly those who are sex workers. That brought me down to a dozen names, four of which are particularly popular with this creep's victimology and I am sending you their names and contact information...now." She clicked the appropriate keys to send the information.

"Okay, I've got it, thanks Garcia." Prentiss said. Emily ended the call abruptly, before Penelope could say anything else.

"Hey, Pen," Kevin Lynch called from behind her at her office door, causing Garcia to nearly jump out of her skin. She swiveled quickly in her chair and glared at Kevin.

"Why do you do that?" She demanded. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, or are suddenly a ninja super-spy?"

"Sorry," Kevin said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted to keep you in the loop. I think I found something that might get us closer to finding Dexter Morgan."

That caught Garcia's attention. Kevin pointed at one of Garcia's monitors to ask if he may use that system to demonstrate. Garcia waved off to indicate she was okay with it. Kevin jumped on and ran his fingers over the keyboard to link up with his system upstairs.

"Check it out," he said, "here in Tijuana I found Jennifer's Flowers, owned briefly by Jennifer Fisher." He zoomed in on a picture of an attractive woman with hair dyed red. "Other than the hair, doesn't that look a lot like Hannah McKay?"

Garcia looked closely. "Yes, it does." She agreed. "That's her, isn't it? It has to be her; right?"

"I think so." Kevin said. "But Jennifer's Flowers was suddenly sold off, and Jennifer Fisher can't be found anywhere in Mexico; weeks later, a flower shop opens up in San Diego." He clicked a few keys. "Look at the name of the shop, and the name of the owner."

"Fisher's Flowers," Garcia read, "owned by Jennifer Fisher."

"The only problem is I can't get a clear picture of the owner in San Diego. There's always a chance that another woman with the same name opened up a flower shop, too. Mind you, that's a pretty big coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences."

"I do," Garcia countered, "but not like that. It definitely bears investigation, and I know that Reid would agree."

"There's a little bit more." Kevin said. "In San Diego, Jennifer lists a dependant for tax purposes; a son named Harrison, and has named a Frank Castle as a co-habitant. Frank Castle has recently opened up a courier business called Castle Couriers."

"Frank Castle; why is that name familiar?" Garcia asked.

"He's the Punisher," Kevin replied. When Garcia looked at him blankly, he continued. "That's a character in the Marvel Comics Universe; a no-nonsense, no mercy type of vigilante."

Garcia was silent for a moment. "That sounds like an alias to me." She said. "Did you check his background?" She asked, imagining that Kevin had, not that it would matter much. She had no doubt that this Frank Castle would have a fairly thorough, if uneventful history. She remembered that Dexter Morgan was good at creating aliases and making them look legitimate; the last one she tracked when he was Stan Liddy was very convincing. Either he was a digital wizard, or he had some serious help that was magical in the cyber-world. Penelope tended to think it was more likely the latter and she actually wanted to know who it was; they could trade recipes or something.

"You know I did," Kevin replied. "It looks pretty legit, if uneventful apart from a stabbing when he was in his senior year."

_Miami, Florida_

Astor Morgan waited ten seconds after Vince left the lab at Miami Metro Homicide to make sure he wouldn't turn around and come back in unexpectedly. Maybe because he was getting long n tooth, or maybe realizing he had a daughter had mellowed him out, but Vince Masuka wasn't nearly the perv that most in the department made him out to be; certainly not towards her. If anything, he was super respectful of her; although that might be a hold over for his respect for Dexter back in the day. Sure, the little weirdo made the odd off-color joke at crime scenes, and would find sex innuendos in just about anything if he put his mind to it, but at the end of the day he was a professional and actually very good at his job.

Once she was sure he was gone, she opened up her personal laptop; Vince was usually very adamant about that being verboten. He was worried about department data getting leaked out; what a noob he was in the digital world.

Astor chuckled to herself as she clicked to check messages and email. Right away her eyes sort of floated to the most recent email; from Castle Couriers, Mid West Branch in Racine, Wisconsin. She knew Dexter was planning on expanding his business there, so it wasn't much of a surprise. This was most likely just a message to let her know he was all set up there. She clicked the message to read it.

She was right and she was wrong. It was certainly a message letting her know that Castle Couriers was indeed open for business in Racine, but it was presented more like an advertisement than a family message. She supposed that made sense; Dexter was nothing if not cautious. Which made the next part of the email a little odd; it seemed a little bit reckless of him. He mentioned a possible new exclusive deal with the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society, and was requesting she do a background check on them; specifically on their financial records and transactions. While it was worded in a safe enough manner, it was a little reckless to come to her for this kind of thing.

"Maybe he thinks I can do a deeper dive than he could." She said to herself. If that was the case, he'd be right. Also, he was probably counting on her having security protocols in place that would make this request quite safe; which would also be correct. Still, it seemed a bit risky for Dexter.

Shrugging, she set about fulfilling his request. At first glance, everything seemed like it was legitimate. Vets placing orders for supplies, medications, and of course for Pentobarbital and Pheytoin otherwise known as Dilatin; which vets commonly use to euthanize animals. At first, she didn't think much of it, until she looked a little deeper. It looked to her like an inordinate amount of that combo being ordered, especially by one of the members; a Dr. Angela Morton. For a moment, Astor pondered if maybe this was one of Dexter's other projects; that maybe he was doing the Butcher thing again. The concoction that Dr. Morton seems to getting a lot of would kill humans as easily as it would an animal; so unless there was some kind of cat or dog pandemic going on in Wisconsin, it would fit. Maybe someone in the WACAPS group was killing people and somehow Dexter got wise to it. That would make sense of his asking about their financial records; he could be compiling evidence. She'd rather not have too much to do with this part of his life, she sent her findings.

Just when she was about to carry on, that was when she saw it. Someone was watching her online activity, and she had a pretty good idea who it was; that agent that was working with SSA Reid. It took Astor a second to remember his name was Lynch. There was no telling how long he'd been there.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Astor?" she chided herself. "Are you high? How could you miss that?"

She made quick work of removing Lynch from her system. Luckily, Dexter's message was from the Wisconsin office and not the one in San Diego. He also made a point to word his message as if he was writing on behalf of Lumen Pierce, the branch manager. Hopefully that was all enough to throw Agent Lynch off the trail if he happens to even see this thread.

_Burlington, Vermont_

Prentiss had divided the team into pairs, one for each of the four hairdressers that Garcia had sent information on. Dr. Spencer Reid and Agent Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau were sent to the home of one named Monique LaFleur, who lived just a few blocks away from Heather, the latest Barber victim. Given the cause of death was strangulation, JJ had her doubts the UnSub was a woman; strangulation generally took a considerable amount of strength, even with a garrote. Also, it didn't really match the profile for a female UnSub to go to strangulation; which was up close and personal. Women usually tended towards distancing themselves; either with a firearm or maybe some kind of poisoning. Still, she supposed it was possible a woman might have some serious grudge against these women, or perhaps she knew something about them that they didn't.

The house was a small rancher with a sizable front yard and long driveway that ended in a garage with a coach house attached to it' actually, the garage looked more like a miniature barn that was converted into a garage. The overall look of the place and the surrounding properties led JJ to think that this was all once farmland that broken up into smaller properties, and that Monique most likely acquired the original homestead property; judging from how run down the rancher looked.

JJ and Spence quickly took note the front door was closed and locked, and there was a note taped to it that advised clients to go around back to the coach house.

"I guess she's on the clock." JJ commented.

"It certainly appears so," Spence agreed. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. "Shall we go around back then?"

"Yes, let's," JJ said as she passed by. Along the way, Spence's phone rang. He looked at the call display and advised he would catch up; he had to take the call. JJ nodded and continued towards the coach house; she heard Spence greet Kevin as she did.

She got to the coach house to find a heavy-set woman in a floral dress and too much make up outside the door, smoking a cigarette; the ashtray set on a stool beside her suggested she was a heavy smoker.

"Excuse me, are you Monique LaFleur?" JJ asked.

"That's right," Monique said; her voice surprisingly clear as she tapped out her cigarette. Monique gave JJ a once over; focusing on her hair. "Well, you're a natural blonde, well groomed, so let me guess; you were referred by a friend and now you're looking to get a trim, right?"

JJ flashed her badge. "Actually, I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau with the FBI. I'd like just a moment of your time to ask you a few questions, if I may. My associate Agent Reid will be joining us shortly."

Monique scowled. "I already told the cops everything I know about that Barber; which is nothin'." She objected. "So maybe you and your partner should go talk to them."

"We're working with the police," JJ replied gently. "Actually we were wondering if you could tell us anything about Heather Camp."

"Yeah, she's a client." Monique's expression softened a little. "She's a nice girl; just got into the wrong line of work is all. As far as I know what she actually does ain't actually illegal, so what is she to you?"

"Would you say you two had a good relationship?" JJ asked.

p class="MsoNormal""I just told you she's a nice kid." Monique shot back. "Yeah, I like her, she takes good care of her hair which makes my job easier, and she always leaves a decent tip." Monique was silent for a moment, and then asked, "What's this about? Why'd you ask about her in the past tense?"

JJ hesitated. It was clear to her that Monique had no idea that Heather Camp was the Barber's latest victim. For reasons she couldn't quite explain to herself, JJ found she couldn't quite find the right way to advise Monique of this news. As luck would have it, that was exactly when Spence came around the corner and made his way to the coach house, disconnecting his call.

"Monique, this is my partner Special Agent Dr. Reid." JJ introduced, to buy herself some time. "Agent Reid, this is Monique LaFleur."

Spence raised a hand in a kind of wave as he flashed his badge.

Monique nodded impatiently as a return greeting. "What's going on here?" She demanded.

JJ cleared her throat. "Agent Reid, I was just about to update Monique here on our case regarding the Barber." She faced Monique. "We regret to have to inform you that your client Heather Camp was attacked last night."

Monique gasped, speechless. It was clear to both JJ and Spence that Monique was able to discern that by 'attacked' they meant killed. Hands shaking, she lit another cigarette.

"She had just finished telling me that she and Heather had a good relationship, albeit more professional than personal." JJ said to Spence.

"I see," Spence replied meditatively. "Mrs LaFleur, let me ask you this; did Heather ever mention any of her clients that maybe liked to play a little rough or made her uncomfortable?"

"No, she didn't talk much about her work when she was here." Monique replied. "She did say that she was always careful and vetted anyone who came up as a new client, though."

"How about a prospective client that may have gotten mad that she turned him away," Spence suggested. "Did she ever mention anything like that?"

Monique thought about it for a moment, but shook her head to indicate that she didn't recall anything like that. JJ thanked her for her time and handed her a card in case she thought of anything that might help.

"Oh, wait," Monique stopped them as they were about to turn and leave. "She did say something a few months back, I think. She said something about seeing some lanky guy skulking around her apartment building. She didn't report it to the cops because..well, you know what she did for a living, so she figured they wouldn't take her seriously."

JJ grimaced at that. She understood why Heather might think that, but given what she had seen from Burlington PD so far, she doubted that there were any grounds for that assumption; especially since that would have been well within their search for this UnSub.

"Thank you, that's very helpful!" Spence said, his voice hitting that pitch it goes to when he starts to get excited. "By any chance did she give you a description?"

Monique pursed her lips, exhaled her smoke. "Nothing that I can think would help you much. She said she only saw him from her porch, see? She said he was kind of lanky, dark clothes, a ski cap," she hitched her thumb towards Spence, "maybe around your height."

JJ had to admit, that was pretty vague. Still, they could go back to the building and canvass the other tenants.

"Thank you again for you time." JJ said, smiling.

As they turned to leave, JJ wondered vaguely how much business Monique would be getting with the amount of snow falling. Then her thoughts began to wander over to what it might have been that Kevin was calling Spence for.

SSA's Lewis and Simmons managed to fight through the blizzard until they got to the small plaza that held the salon owned by Nathan Lewis only to find the shop was closed. Along with the salon, there was a coffee shop, a convenience store, and a sports supplements shop on the ground floor. On the two floors above were a gym and the offices of the tabloid newspaper the Alt-News, run by the Wellingtons. Previous investigations indicated the tabloid took a strong left-leaning stance on most if not all things even remotely political. Of course, that was their right, but to the experience of Simmons, that did not make for particularly fact-based reporting; such publications always read as largely opinion-based editorials to him.

Fortunately, they weren't here for the Alt-News. They were here for Lewis. For a fraction of a moment, Simmons contemplated if there was any connection between Nathan Lewis and Tara. He quickly dismissed the idea, though; according to Garcia's information, Nathan Lewis was white.

"It appears that Nathan is closed for the day." Tara commented. "I guess this is hardly a surprise given the weather."

"Or," Simmons added, tapping on the glass door where a sign clearly read the salon was open by appointment only, "he has no appointments today."

"What kind of a salon is open by appointment only?" Tara asked.

"It could be he's that good," Simmons replied, "or the salon is more of a hobby than a job. Garcia says Nathan was living off a trust fund his mother set up for him. Either way, he would be able to afford to keep whatever hours he wanted to."

Tara scoffed. "That must be nice." She said.

"Tell me about it." Matthew said."Shall we try his home, then?"

"We might not need to." Tara replied. She indicated towards the street where a blue sedan, a Mazda, was pulling up to the curb. Simmons was not completely sure if that was a legal parking job, but perhaps the driver was only going to be here for a moment. Also, given the weather conditions, the parking was not really an issue.

A thin man about Reid's height stepped out of the driver's side. He had dark hair and slight features; he looked pretty much the way Simmons imagined a male hairdresser pictured. The man from the sedan made his way towards the salon, stopping short when he saw them making their way towards him. He glanced around, more as if he was checking to see if anyone else was around than for a way out.

"Nathan Lewis" Simmons asked.

"Yes," Nathan replied, clearly nervous.

"Agents Lewis and Simmons of the FBI," Tara said as they both produced their badges. "If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be happening. Yes, the FBI were supposed to eventually profile that he was their Unknown Subject, but it was supposed to be Dr. Reid that realized who he was and the mistake he made years ago. More importantly, he needed a chance to correct his mistake. As it was now, Nathan had no choice but to play this out until he knew that Spencer understood everything. Maybe this was a good thing; he could use this as an opportunity to set the stage exactly right. If Nathan had any regret, it was that Agent Gideon was already dead and therefore unable to be part of this. To be fair Jason Gideon didn't do anything wrong.

"What's this about?" he asked, looking from one agent to the other. He imagined they would clock him for looking nervous or shifty. He had no doubt that would be added to his profile, and that Spencer would hear about it. Even though he made the mistake he made that caused all of this to happen, Spencer was a smart man and would piece it all together.

"We're here to help your police department investigate a string of homicides that have taken place in your city over the past few months." The man, Simmons, declared. "You're probably aware of them."

"Do you mean the prostitutes?" Nathan asked, trying to sound nervous. "The ones the news is calling 'the Barber'?" This second part he made sure to sound as if he was a little indignant.

"Yes, sir, that is the case we're working on." The woman, whose name ironically was Lewis, confirmed.

"What does that have to do with me?" Nathan asked. "Do you think the killer is actually a barber?" He figured he might as well fish a little bit; that would be one of the things they would look for in an organized killer.

The agents exchanged a glance, signalling to Nathan that they were indeed taking note of his behavior; his stage was being set. Without directly answering his question, the female agent asked him if he ever worked on the hair of any of the victims, naming them off in chronological order starting with Sugar.

"No, I can't say that I have," Nathan said truthfully enough. None of them were ever his clients. "You see, I work by appointment only, and have a client list. I also keep a record of all appointments and clients. I can even show it to you if you like." He indicated inside his salon to prompt his offer.

Shrugging, Simmons said "Sure, let's see it."

"Alright," Nathan replied, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. He made a little bit of a show of it, just to make sure these would like him as a suspect if only by profile; as part of his plan to get to Spencer. "Here we go," he said finally as he got the door open. He let the agents in ahead of him. "Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable while I get the list for you."

Nathan knew exactly where he kept his client list, but he took his time getting it so he could observe the agents and gauge whether they were looking at him as a potential match for their profile. It was hard to tell; these agents had very good poker faces. They were talking, but they kept their voices just below audible levels from his vantage point. He came back, list in hand.

"Here you go," he said, smiling weakly as he handed it to Agent Lewis. She shifted her weight slightly and moved herself so that Simmons could look over it. They scanned over the names, and then Simmons asked about Phoebe. Nathan admitted that Phoebe was indeed a client and asked what she had to do with any of this.

"Were you aware that Phoebe discovered the remains of the most recent victim?" Lewis asked.

"No, I wasn't!" Nathan lied. "Although that would explain why she was a little late and seemed distracted. What did she tell you?"

"She wasn't very cooperative." Simmons replied. "She had it in her head that were trying to blame her friend for her own death."

Nathan let out a sigh, disguising his relief as a hint of frustration.

"Can we have a copy of this list?" Lewis asked.

"Sure," Nathan answered her, taking the list back. "I have a copier in the back, I'll make you a copy right now." After making them a copy and handing it off, they left.


	6. Chapter 6

_Racine, Wisconsin_

Dexter's ears perked up when he heard the message notification on Lumen's laptop indicate she had an incoming message. Given the amount of work she was doing on it, the message could have been anything; but he had used her computer to send Astor his inquiry on WACAPS, specifically on Dr. Angela Morton. Obviously, this was done under the premise of advertising the new Mid-West branch of Castle Couriers, and a request of a background check on potential new client. Could Astor have found what he was looking for so quickly? Dexter was expecting the search to take a little longer than this, but it was possible. He also imagined that despite the subterfuge, Astor likely knew his real reasons for the request; especially after all the Jacob Elway stuff back in Miami. He wasn't worried about her knowing; she proved she can keep quiet with her fact checking in Masuka's books. Neither was he worried about Lumen knowing anything; even if Lumen were to change her mind about her feelings towards Dexter's Dark Passenger, she knew very well that he could easily take her down with him if she should betray him. He didn't expect it would ever come to that, but there was the whole Barrel Girl case.

"It's Astor." Lumen announced. "It looks like she's found what we're looking for."

_We; she said we. It appears Lumen still has a little of the darkness in her, too. It just took something to stir it back up... _

She was trying to sound calm about it, but the excitement in her voice was as clear as a church bell right before Sunday Mass. This proved to Dexter he was right to be comfortable with his extracurricular activities around her. In fact, it even suggested he could use her as a resource from time to time.

As for Astor's work, he was impressed. He figured she was bright enough to find something, but he wasn't counting on such quick results. For all of his shortcomings, Joe Quinn knew how to pick his sources. Not only was Astor gifted at setting up identities, she was very proficient at acquiring information. He got up from the sofa and made his way to the den where Lumen was working on her laptop.

Sure enough, Astor had indeed come through. Her message offered congratulations to Lumen and Dexter (Frank Castle) for the growth of Castle Couriers, and had an attachment with the information they requested. In addition to what looked like a clean record, there was a little bit of history on Angela Morton; of interest, her father apparently committed suicide by lethal injection when she quite young. Dexter was sure the BAU would call that a stressor or something. More importantly, there was an inordinately high level of purchases of the very same euthanizing drugs used by all the suicides in the state of late. Even more telling, these purchases correlated with the dates of the suicides. Not only that, but she could be connected, either directly or within one degree of separation of each of the suicides, shortly before they died.

_How could the cops have missed this? I bet even that guy Bishop could find this._

"Is it enough?" Lumen asked hopefully.

_It does look bad, but it's all circumstantial, Dexter._ Harry said as a caveat.

_I don't like it; not one fucking little bit, but it's not enough._ Deb agreed. _It would never hold up in court and you fuckin' know it._ Dexter was about to counter Debra by pointing out that was part of the point of what he did, but held back; no need for Lumen to hear him talking to his imaginary friends.

"It's enough for me." He said, answering Lumen's question and retorting both Deb and Harry. He sent a reply thanking Astor, got up, and let Lumen resume her work. It was now time start getting ready. Dexter's Dark Passenger had a deadly play date with the Doctor.

_Milwaukee, Wisconsin_

The last time Julian Bishop was in Milwaukee was about a year ago for a Brewers game; a game the Brew Crew actually won, as Julian remembered. Back then, he quite admired the city for its architecture and historical sites; it was a great looking place for its age. Now, Julian found he was marveling at how much a difference a year could make; the city had really gone to seed.

He supposed it probably had a lot to do with that incident with those boneheaded bigot State Troopers. Early last spring a couple of troopers went and tasered an elderly African American man that they claimed was resisting arrest on a DUI. The man had a heart attack and died as a result. The troopers were fired, but not, but not convicted of anything. The general public basically exploded; calling for the troopers' heads. Chaos ensued across the state for awhile, and it looked like Milwaukee was still having trouble over it, based on the graffiti, litter, property damage, and signage demanding fair treatment from cops in general that Julian could see everywhere he looked. Personally, Bishop thought the troopers should have been charged; at the very least with manslaughter. He doubted their intent was to kill anyone, but there was no need to use a taser to subdue a stubborn old man. As it was now, Julian was cruising past Juneau Park, where a demonstration was starting to brew up around the statue of Solomon Juneau, one of the founding fathers of the city.

Already the statue looked like it was spattered with blood; most likely red paint, but the intent was clear. This was bound to be a protest against the statue; probably claiming it should be removed on grounds that Juneau was a fur trader. Their claim would almost certainly be tied into a racism claim; fur traders exploited and enslaved indigenous people, so the statue must be glorifying oppression and slavery.

Julian drove by. He didn't want to be around to see where this went; even if the cops weren't hand-tied by new State legislation, this was likely to get out of hand. With the new legislation, the cops couldn't do shit about much of anything; this was almost certainly going to implode. Julian had work to do that had nothing to do with any of this nonsense.

That work took him to the central headquarters of the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society, which was where Dr. Jon Abrams operated. Even before heading out, he figured that talking to Abrams without an appointment would be next to impossible; he didn't want to actually talk to him, anyway. Bishop had another idea. He parked his car in a pay parking booth – a risky venture these days, but one that couldn't be avoided – and popped the trunk. From the trunk he produced a set of coveralls, a high-visibility vest, and a clipboard with some clean sheets on them with charts and a checklist on it. For good measure, he also took out what he called 'the gadget'. The gadget didn't actually do anything, but it would make a beeping noise with a blinking light if pushed a button on its side. He put the coveralls on over his own clothes and the vest over the coveralls. Then he stuffed the gadget into a pocket in the vest and took the clipboard with him the next few blocks to the WACAPS HQ. In his experience, he found that if he showed up wearing a vest with a clipboard, he could get into just about anywhere and even the front desk would simply assume he was supposed to be there to check on some meters or something. The coveralls were always a nice touch, as it would usually allow him to tinker around with stuff, especially if he had the gadget. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out the tool kit and hard hat he kept in the trunk, too. This ensemble normally eliminated any questions, particularly in big cities where many of the buildings were so old they almost always had something wrong with them. On top of that, he was blessed with a generic looking face (brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing marks; he looked like everyone and nobody in particular all at once, which made it easy to become invisible) and an average build. More often than not, he could get into and out of places without even being noticed, let alone questioned. Maybe not great for getting dates, but it was quite handy for this kind of work. All dressed up and clipboard in hand, Julian Bishop went to work.

_Burlington, Vermont_

Nathan was quite certain that the Feds at the BAU were close; the pair that visited him at the salon had to have given their report by now, and there was no way they wouldn't see how well he matched their Profile. He definitely gave them enough cues for that. Chances were good they were talking him right now; it was even possible their Unit Chief was saying they needed to bring him in for more questioning. If that happened, there was no doubt that Spencer would recognize him, and then he would be arrested and put back into some institution or another.

That wouldn't do at all; that would be nothing more than a variation of the same mistake all over again. There was no doubt that they were close; they had to be. The conditions were all wrong, though. Nathan had to do something to resolve that; and he had to do it quickly.

He thought about going after Phoebe; that would certainly get their attention, especially if he left another message in Ronald Weems style. If it hasn't happened already, Spencer would pick up on the pattern and see the connection between Nathan and Ronald. If he hadn't already, another message would remind Spencer of how they first met. Of course, his mother helped him with a name change in an attempt to leave that old life behind, but that mild subterfuge was not strong enough to hide from the BAU; especially when it came to Dr Spencer Reid.

Then again, after that interview in the paper, Phoebe was probably being watched. That would make it more difficult to reach than Nathan wanted right now. Besides, maybe Phoebe wasn't the best choice, anyway. Maybe she didn't need to die; maybe only one person needed to die to end all of this. Instead, he could reach out to the reporter. Before that, though, he would send a message to Spencer; albeit in a more conventional method.

Based on the interviews conducted by her team, SSA Emily Prentiss liked Nathan Lewis. She liked him in the sense that Joe might have liked him if he were here; she liked him as her prime suspect. At the very least, he was the one that fit their profile the best. There was, of course, the evidence- or more accurately lack of it – to consider. So far, the best they could do was calling him in for further questioning. They might get a confession out of him; his profile suggested that it was possible he was looking for some kind of recognition for his work, especially with the latest development of the message carved into the latest victim.

Who did he blame? Did he blame Heather herself? Was Heather some kind of endgame victim – like a Queen Bee for some Involuntary Celibate? Emily didn't think so. It could be women in general; that would explain the variation in appearances and even races of the victims, but it was far more likely they were all taken as opportunity presented. He was organized, and seemed to have planned out his murders, but the targets themselves seemed to be chosen at random; maybe as a forensic countermeasure. That was also a possible explanation for the different methods, but since he's recently settled into strangulation it was apparent he was simply trying out different methods until he found the right one; the one he found most satisfying. So why deliver the message now? Who did he blame, and what did he blame them for? More accurately, what did whoever he blamed do that made these murders their fault? What was he deflecting accountability from?

"Something on your mind, Prentiss" David Rossi asked as he approached from behind, handing her a large cup of coffee.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip. "Wow, that's actually not too bad."

"I got it from the food truck outside." Rossi replied. "The detectives here all swear by it."

"Well, it beats the department swill, I'll say that much." Prentiss commented.

"You got that right," Rossi agreed. He glanced up at the cork board with all the photos and documents tacked onto it. "So what're you thinking about?"

She waved a finger at the crime scene photo of Heather Camp; the one with the message carved into her. "What do you make of this?" She asked. "Why is he sending out messages now?"

"He's been at this for awhile, now," Rossi began. "It could be a taunt; maybe he's raising the stakes because he's getting more confident. But I think it's something else. He seemed happy enough to let the cops chase their tails up until now. The cutting of hair suggests remorse, and then this" he pointed at the picture, "happens after we show up and deliver our profile."

"What are you saying?" Prentiss asked. "Are you thinking his message is directed at us?"

"Maybe he wants to get caught." Rossi suggested. "He can't turn himself in; he can't stop himself, so we have to catch him. That means every time he kills it's on us because we can't do our job."

Prentiss nodded slowly. "It could be we're looking at someone we had a brush with before, but missed somehow." She added. "Now he's letting us know he's still out there and he'll keep doing this until we stop him."

"Or somebody we did put away that somehow got out, and now has a score to settle." Rossi suggested. "I already got Garcia looking into our old cases for any similar MO's and signatures. She should have a few hits for us in no time."

_San Diego, California_

Harrison loved Hannah; he had even gone so far as to think of her as his mom despite the fact his dad was always careful to tell him about Rita. Truth was, Harrison could only barely remember any other woman around dad besides Auntie Debra and of course Jaime the Nanny. When he really thought hard about it, he thought there might have been an Irish lady, and he was pretty sure there was a pretty blonde. Trouble was, he sometimes remembered the blonde one way, and other times he remembered another. One way, she was playing with his toys on a table with dad; like they were making some kind of secret plan or something. Then the other – always just in flashes – she was in a bathtub full of blood. Then it got really weird; it seemed to be that she looked different in both versions. Was one of them Rita?

He was aware of whom Rita Morgan was; that was his, Astor and Cody's biological mother, and one time Astor told him what happened to her. Maybe that was who he saw in those flashes of the bathtub woman. From time to time, Harrison wondered if bathtub mom had something to do with his Shady Co-host.

At the end of the day, though, whether through circumstance or whatever, Hannah was his mom with or without biology. She was good about taking care of him; maybe too good sometimes. Lately, ever since dad went on business to Wisconsin, mom was a little like a helicopter; probably to keep his Shady Co-host in check. It was annoying and unnecessary; Harrison would not let the Show Go On without Dad yet. He wanted to make sure he knew enough to never get caught. Even so, he understood and appreciated her concern; especially since all that day, the Shady Co-host had been getting pretty antsy; stirring about in the wings of his mind stage, eager to take the spotlight for awhile. He found it helped a little if he screened for potential guests. His dad had a spoofed ID on a proxy server to access the California Criminal Database and the San Diego court files. He started browsing those to see who was available. There was Pedro Morales; he beat his wife to death with a baseball bat. As much as Harrison would like to make the punishment fit the crime, he could see how messy that would be; it would be wiser to take care of Pedro Morales dad's way, if at all. There was also Officer Brian Palmer; he shot some drug dealer for resisting arrest. The courts might call that a clean kill, but the public disagreed. Officer Palmer might be a good guest; maybe he and dad could even make it look like a suicide or something.

"What are you doing, Harrison?" Mom asked.

"Browsing potential guests," Harrison replied, seeing no reason to lie about it; mom knew everything about him anyway- maybe even more than he knew himself if he were to be completely honest. He wondered briefly if it was weird to admit that somebody else might know him than he knew himself. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try anything without dad here; I find this just helps quiet the Shady Co-host."

"You sound more like him every day." Mom commented. "Your dad used to talk about his Dark Rider all the time."

"It's Dark Passenger." Harrison corrected her.

"Whatever," Hannah replied. "The point is, even he knows there's no alter-ego or monster inside of him, now. If he uses the term it's all metaphor to describe his need."

"I know that, mom." Harrison said, starting to lose patience. "All I meant was that doing this browsing helps a little; it feels like I'm at least doing...something."

"I'm curious," She asked. "What's it like; this Shady Co-host of yours?"

Harrison sighed, took a deep breath, and swiveled the chair he was sitting in to face her. He knew that she was trying to help; maybe she was right. Maybe talking about it would release some of the pressure.

"It always starts with blood." He began, "just a droplet on a white surface; like the bottom of a bathtub. Then the drop becomes a droplet, and the droplet becomes a trickle which forms a puddle and then a pool. Then the trickle turns into a stream and the pool gets bigger and bigger until it fills me up and it's like I'm drowning inside. Then it speaks; well, not really speaks, more like mumbles and grumbles wordlessly, but I know what its saying- for a lack of a better word."

"So the only way you know to keep from drowning is to do what you and your dad do." Hannah said, more than she asked.

"Well, yeah," Harrison confirmed, noticing that he could breathe a little easier now. "See, it's like the world is a stage, and sometimes I have to let the Shady Co-host take the stage to drain the blood out."

Hannah came in closer and hugged him. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this," she said, kissing his forehead. "I wish I could take it all away, but since I can't, you go ahead and do what you got to do; browse, if it helps. Just remember you have school tomorrow; you'll need some sleep."

"Okay, mom," Harrison agreed, tuning back to the monitor to look up a couple more potential guests

_Washington, DC_

"Sergeant Quinn?"

Sergeant Detective Joseph Quinn looked up from his table at the old Irish Pub he found to see a bespectacled man with black hair rocking a Hawaiian shirt that reminded him a little of Angel Batista looking down at him. The man pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, waiting for Joe to answer.

"Who wants to know?" Joe asked back. The guy looked familiar, but Quinn couldn't quite place where from; not the Irish Lords, he was sure of that much. Joe couldn't quite explain why, but for some reason, this guy seemed like a threat. He hadn't hooked up with anyone lately, especially since he was here in DC for Emily, so it wasn't likely this guy was anyone's brother or boyfriend. Not that he was worried this guy would want to take him outside; Joe was pretty sure he could take him even if that was the case.

"Kevin Lynch," the guy said, extending his hand, "technical analyst with the FBI?"

Then it clicked for Joe. This guy Lynch was one of the Feds that worked with Em' him and that chick Garcia. When Joe thought about it, Astor mentioned that the Beanpole and Lynch went to Miami looking into the Butcher case.

"Oh, yeah, I remember now," Joe said as jovially as he could manage. "You work with Em, right?"

Kevin adjusted his glasses again. "Well, sometimes, yeah," he confirmed. "Actually I'm in cyber-crimes, Penelope is with the BAU full time; but I do occasionally help the unit with particularly challenging cases. I more accurately work with Penelope... I mean, Agent Garcia."

Seeing an opportunity to pump info about the Fed's examination into Dexter out of this guy Lynch, Joe smiled welcoming.

"I stand corrected," he said. "Pull up a chair and grab a beer."

"That's cool," Kevin said, sitting down across from Joe.

"So how was your little trip to Miami with the beanpole?" Joe asked, and then quickly amended himself. "Excuse me, I mean Agent Reid."

Kevin gaped at Joe. "How did you know...?" he asked.

"I came up here from Miami Metro." Joe explained. "I still keep in touch with a few people down there, and a couple of them mentioned you two were down there to review one of Agent Lundy's old cases." Once he saw Kevin had relaxed a little, clearly satisfied with his explanation, Joe pressed on. "You know, I was part of the Trinity investigation. Maybe I can help you out with that if..."

"No, we weren't there for Trinity." Kevin interjected. "We were reviewing the Original Bay Harbor Butcher. You weren't there for that one, by any chance, were you?"

"No, I wasn't. I got moved to homicide from narcotics shortly after that case." Joe answered.

"That's right," Kevin replied, snapping his fingers as if being reminded of something. "You were partnered up with Debra Morgan at first, weren't you?"

The little prick was interrogating him, Joe realized. Next thing, Kevin was going to start asking about Dexter; maybe even try to implicate Deb into Dex's shit post posthumously. If he's going to ask about Dex, then Joe can glean just how close they are to catching up to him. In short, Joe figured he can turn this line of questioning around.

"Yeah," Joe confirmed, putting on his best stupid grin. He figured there was no harm in letting Kevin think he was in control and that he, Joe, had no clue what was really going on. "Deb was still an officer then; she didn't make detective until after she broke the Skinner case."

"I see," Kevin replied, nodding. "So you and Detective Morgan were close?"

"You could say that." Joe agreed. He saw no point in disclosing that he and Deb were a couple at one point, or that they were about to start over before that son of a bitch Saxon shot her leading ultimately to her death.

"What about her and Dexter Morgan? Were they close?"

"Actually, they seemed practically inseparable." Joe replied. "They were brother and sister, so why wouldn't they be?"

"So would it be fair to say that you and Dexter Morgan were close, if only by extension?" Kevin asked.

Quinn had to take a second to consider his answer. He wasn't sure where the tech was going with this line of questioning. Was he trying to somehow implicate him with Dexter?

"Dex and I were never exactly buddies, if that's what you mean." He finally replied. "At first, Dex kind of had a bug up his ass about me to tell the truth; I figure it was just him being a protective big brother or some shit. Not that Deb needed a lot of protection; she was plenty tough all on her own. Of course, there was this one time he blew it on one of my cases in court and I chewed him out pretty hard for it; maybe he was butthurt over that."

"Fair enough," Kevin allowed. "In any case, I would guess it's safe to say you've been around the both of them at the same time, right? Had you ever detected any sort of code of conduct or secret language between them?"

Genuinely confused by this question, Quinn squinted at him to indicate he had no idea what Lynch was talking about. Kevin shrugged the look off, apparently satisfied that Joe was not aware of any sort of code; whatever that was supposed to mean. One thing was starting to become clear to Quinn; the Feds were looking at the Butcher case, most likely because of LaGuerta's reopening of the case years ago where she tried to put the original butcher crimes on Dexter in order to clear Doakes. Given the documents he found in Elway's possession during the copycat case, Quinn knew all too well that meant the Feds were onto something. That was not good. Just to get a better gauge on how close they were, Joe asked Kevin what all this was really about.

"As you know, Dexter came out of hiding during the Jacob Elway case, and disappeared again right after it was solved." Kevin began. "Upon review, we have reason to believe he might have additional knowledge regarding the James Doakes case, and would like very much to inquire what that knowledge might be. Would you, by any chance, have any insights as to where we might find him, or how to contact him?"

Joe barely managed to hold his laughter. What Kevin obviously meant was they thought they had evidence which would support the notion that Dex framed Doakes, and that he was the real Bay Harbor Butcher. They wanted to bring him in and interrogate him. He wanted to tell this tech geek to get stuffed and leave Dexter the fuck alone, but thought better of it.

"I have no clue where he is, and have no way to contact him." He said; which was half true. Then Kevin asked about Hannah McKay. Joe replied with a stunned expression as if to repeat the question back to Kevin. Then Kevin produced a picture that _might _have been Hannah, telling him the image was captured in San Diego, California. Before Quinn cold say anything in response, Lynch explained that they thought it was possible that Dexter may be either with her or trying to track her, since she was the last known person to have been with his son Harrison. Kevin didn't know it yet, but he just showed his hand.

"Then you already know more than I do." Quinn said simply, and then glanced at his watch. "What I do know is that I'm on days tomorrow, and should be turning in." He finished his beer, stood up and threw down a few bucks to cover the cost of two drinks. Telling Kevin to take of himself, Joe left the bar to go home and figure out the best way to give Dexter the heads up.


End file.
